Pearls (19 page)

He paced the room. What should he do? The steamer would be leaving in a few hours. No, that would be the first place Sergeant Clarke would check. No, he would have to stay in Broome for a while longer and brazen it out.

Five hundred pounds! It was still a lot of money. But it wouldn't buy him very much if he had a rope around his neck.

***

Cameron hardly slept that night. He woke just after dawn, heard someone coming aboard. He jumped off his bunk and hurried up the scuttle.

It was Sergeant Clarke. He had two of his constables with him. It was just light, and the sun was low over the flat horizon. It could not be much after six o'clock.

'Good morning, sergeant,' Cameron said. 'You're calling very early.'

'Morning, Cam.' Clarke looked uncomfortable. 'I'm sorry about this.'

'Sorry? What are you sorry for?'

Clarke smoothed the wings of his ginger walrus moustache with his fingers. 'I've a warrant for your arrest.'

'You're arresting me?' Cameron put his hands on his hips. 'On what charge?'

'The murder of Patrick Bernard Flynn.'

'You're not serious?'

'Like I said, I'm sorry, Cam.' He held out the handcuffs, then decided against them. Where would Cam run to? 'You didn't really do for him, did you?'

Chapter 30

two months later

The court room was packed. The fans laboured overhead, it was breathless hot in the tiny courtroom. Cameron stood in the dock between two of Clarke's constables and looked out over the sea of faces searching for just one.

But Kate would not look at him.

Lacey was on the stand. Barrington, the Crown Prosecutor, consulted his notes through his pince-nez. 'Mister Lacey, in the statement you made to the police, you said that you were the first to find the body of the deceased. Is that correct?'

Lacey looked uncomfortable in the suit and wing collar he had rented for the occasion. He squirmed in his chair. 'Deceased?'

'The dead man,' Barrington said, his patience sorely tried. 'Mister Flynn.'

'That's right. It was terrible, you could see his brains.'

Barrington adjusted his spectacles. 'Thank you, Mister Lacey, there is no need for you to elaborate. A simple yes or no will suffice. Could you just tell us, in your own words, how you happened to find the body?'

'We was in the Regret, having a few drinks, me and Jack and Tom.'

'That is Mister McDonagh and Mister Gibson?'

'That's right.' Lacey loosened his collar and leaned forward. 'We heard this yelling. 'Help me! Murder!' Like that. So we ran outside. The yelling was coming from the beach. When we got there we found Flynn lying on his back with his brains ...'

'Thank you, Mister Lacey. Was anyone else present?'

'Ay?'

'Did you see anyone else?'

'Nar, there weren't no one.'

'I see.' Offended for the moment by the double negative, Barrington consulted his notes. 'And when did you first see the accused?'

Lacey glanced at Cameron and pulled at his collar. 'It was later. After we hauled Flynn up to the street. He was breathing hard and there was blood all over him.'

'Mister McKenzie had blood all over him?'

'He did.'

'Can you be more precise. Where was the blood, Mister Lacey?'

'Everywhere.'

'On his hands?'

'Yeah, on his hands. On his trousers. On his shirt. Everywhere.'

'I see,' Barrington said, heavily. 'Did Mister Cameron offer any explanation why he was covered in blood? He cut himself shaving perhaps?'

Cameron's lawyer, Wingham, was on his feet in an instant. 'Objection!'

The magistrate looked down his nose at the Crown Prosecutor. 'Mister Barrington ...'

Barrington bowed. 'I withdraw the remark, Your Honour.'

'Strike it from the record,' the magistrate said to the clerk. Then to Barrington: 'I don't expect to hear any more of that.'

Barrington accepted the rebuke with equanimity. He smiled at the jury. 'I'll repeat the question. Did Mister Cameron give you any explanation as to why he was covered in blood?'

'He said he'd found Flynn lying on the beach before we had.'

Barrington looked puzzled. 'I see. But you say you were the first to find the body?'

'Well, there weren't no one else there when we got there.'

'So where was Mister McKenzie?'

Lacey shrugged. 'I darno. He said he was chasing someone.'

'Chasing someone?'

'The bloke who did it, he said.'

'I repeat, Mister Lacey, when you found the body, did you see anyone else on the beach?'

'No, I didn't.'

Barrington took a deep breath and looked at Cameron. 'Curious.' He scratched his wig, a fine portrayal of bewilderment. 'One more question, Mister Lacey. Did you ever hear the accused threaten the deceased ... Mister Flynn?'

'Once.'

'Please tell the court about it, if you will.'

'It was the night of the riot. Some of the Koepangers had barricaded themselves into the Conti.'

'The Conti?'

'The Continental Hotel. Anyways, Sergeant Clarke had recruited a load of us blokes as special constables. We was standing on the steps when I heard him say it.'

'Say what?'

Lacey cleared his throat. 'He said to Flynn: 'I'll see you in hell for what you done to me.' '

Barrington sucked on his teeth, turning to the jury to allow the dramatic impact to be absorbed. 'And what do you suppose he meant by that?'

'It was common knowledge. Flynn stole a snide ...'

Wingham jumped to his feet immediately. 'Objection, Your Honour! This is just hearsay!'

'Sustained.'

Barrington smiled at the jury, all long term residents of Broome, save three. They all knew the story, but it didn't hurt to remind them. 'Thank you, Mister Lacey, you've been most helpful.'

***

Cameron sat on the edge of his cot and stared at the floor. He still could not believe this was happening. It was like being trapped in quicksand. At first the danger had seemed absurd, but the more he struggled, the deeper he had sunk. Now he was hopelessly trapped by a morass of half-truths and innuendo.

He put his head in his hands and tried to think. The prosecution had established a clear motive. What did he have? Juts his word. The one thing that could have proved his story - the other man's footprints in the sand - had been obliterated by the crowd who had rushed down the beach when they heard Flynn's shouts for help.

He heard footsteps on the stone floor and looked up. It was Sergeant Clarke. 'You've got a visitor.'

Cameron stood up.

Kate!

A woman swept into the cell behind Clarke. She was slim and fair-haired. 'Five minutes, ma'am,' Clarke said to her. She waited patiently until he had gone, locking the door behind him. He remained on guard outside.

'Hello, Cam.'

'Rosie! What are you doing here, lass?'

She put her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

'You dinnae have to come,' he said.

'Cam, I'm so afraid what they're going to do to you.'

'I dinnae do it.'

'I know.' She let him go and fumbled for a handkerchief. 'I'm sorry. You don't need me blubbing all over you.'

'It will be all right,' he said to her. 'Don't take on so.'

'How can it be all right? They're going to hang you, Cam!'

'I tell you, I dinnae do it.'

'And I'm the only one in Broome who believes you!' Rosie pulled his head towards her and whispered fiercely: 'Tell them you with me!'

'I dinnae understand.'

Rosie shot a glance towards the door. 'Don't you remember?' she whispered. 'I was with you. On the
Roebuck.
'

Cam shook his head. 'You cannae do it, Rosie. Nae for me. It's perjury. They'll crucify you.'

'I don't care! It doesn't matter what really happened. You've told the truth until now and what good has it done you? If you're innocent then you'd better start lying!'

He stared at her. She was right, they were going to hang him. As far as the law and everyone else was concerned he looked guilty, and that was an end to it.

'Rosie ...'

'I won't let them do this to you,' she said. 'Sergeant Clarke!' He unlocked the door for her. Rosie turned back, kissed Cameron quickly on the mouth and left.

Chapter 31

The Crown Prosecutor called four other witnesses who had been present the night Cameron made his threat to Flynn. McDonagh and Gibson and several others corroborated Lacey's story of how Flynn had been found on the beach.

Finally George Niland was called to the stand.

He looked cool and respectable in his grey Tussore jacket and pearl tie pin and charcoal tailor-made trousers. He crossed his legs and leaned back in the bentwood chair, studying Barrington down the length of his nose.

After the preliminaries, Barrington asked: 'Mister Niland, you were, I believe, the last person to see the deceased alive.'

'I assume so ... apart from the murderer, of course.' He glanced across the room at Cameron. The jury followed his eyes. You motherless bastard, Cameron thought.

'The deceased was your father-in-law, that is correct?'

'Yes.'

'And where was the deceased living at the time of the murder?'

'He was staying with us at our home. He was intending to return to Perth at the end of the month.'

'Do you recall your last conversation?'

'Yes, I do. We were on the veranda. My wife had gone to bed.'

'And what did you discuss?'

George hesitated for the first time. 'Personal matters.'

Barrington frowned and consulted his notes. 'Did you not say in your statement that the accused's name was mentioned?'

George glanced at Cameron, then at the jury.

'Mister Niland?'

'I believe I was mistaken.'

'But you said in your statement that the deceased appeared to be angry with Mister McKenzie and said he was going to look for him?'

George appeared flustered. 'He might have done ... '

'In your statement ...'

George tugged at his moustache. 'Patrick ... Mister Flynn could fly off the handle pretty easily. He didn't always mean what he said.' He looked across at the jury once more. 'He was full of hot air.'

'But did he not tell you he was going out to look for Mister McKenzie?'

'Well I'm not sure now. It was a few months ago.'

'In the statement you gave to the police the day after Mister Flynn's murder ...'

'Well if that's what I said, then I suppose that's what happened. But I don't remember now.'

Barrington mopped at his face with a handkerchief, angry and flustered that one of his star witnesses had turned on him. 'Mister Niland, were you at the Continental Hotel on the night of the twenty third of December?'

'Yes.'

'And did you hear the accused make a threat against the deceased?'

'If he did, I don't remember it.'

Barrington straightened, the muscles in his jaw rippling. 'One last question, Mister Niland. You have known the accused for some time, I believe?'

'Yes. We were in the Royal Navy together as junior cadets.'

'So you would characterise yourself as a friend?'

He hesitated. 'Yes.'

'Thank you, Mister Niland.'

Cameron stared at George Niland, almost as bewildered as Barrington. It had been an admirable performance from a man with whom he had not spoken for six years and whose last words had been a warning to get out of town. It must have appeared to everyone in the court that George had just done everything in his power to protect him.

Which must mean that even Cameron's old friend from the Navy - who also happened to be the most powerful and knowledgeable man in town - thought he was guilty.

***

Simeon watched Anna leave Lacey's foreshore camp and followed her along Dampier Terrace into the Chinatown. She looked radiant, fair hair cascading down her back from under her bonnet, her creamy arms bare. In one pale hand she clutched a parasol against the sun, in the other she had a wicker basket.

He watched her go into Tanaka's store. When she came out, he was there waiting for her.

'Anna!'

She gasped and took a step back. 'Simeon!'