The Port Fairy Murders (20 page)

Bed was the place where Titus brought his daily investigations to Maude. It had been like this since the early days of their marriage, and although Police Command might frown on it, Titus discussed everything with Maude. He spared her nothing. She’d demanded this of him, and his initial reluctance gave way to gratitude, and now the idea that she might be excluded was unthinkable. In fact, she had become so much a part of the way in which Titus did his job that he valued her opinion above all others. She examined crime-scene photographs, and read briefings and witness statements. No one in Homicide knew the full extent of her access, although most people suspected that she knew more than she ought to about investigations. If Command ever found out that photographs left Russell Street without authorisation, Titus would have been subject to serious reprimand and possibly even dismissal. However, for Titus it was worth the risk. Maude had the uncanny knack of seeing in photographs telling details that others missed, and she could ascertain from witness and suspect statements unexpected aspects of their characters.

It was deeply frustrating to Titus that almost all material relevant to the investigation that had so damaged Maude’s brother and Joe Sable had been taken away by Army Intelligence, and was now out of reach under the secrecy restrictions of the Crimes Act. He’d heard nothing from Intelligence since New Year’s Day. If they had any continuing interest in George Starling, or any other Hitlerites, they weren’t using Homicide to help them. That suited Titus. He hadn’t liked the way they worked.

Maude was reading the briefings written in Warrnambool. She was fascinated by the difference between the Halloran brothers. She remembered Greg Halloran fondly, and she thought Helen Lord’s description of her meeting with Stanley Halloran was evocative and brutally honest.

‘She doesn’t spare herself, does she? Most people would have left out that remark about her being ugly.’

‘Why did she leave it in, do you think? Leaving it out wouldn’t have mattered.’

‘Yes, it would have. We need to know that Stanley Halloran would say such a thing because it lends credence to Helen Lord’s recollection of everything else that he said. What he said to her is nasty; what he said about the Jews and Italians is doubly disturbing because we know his capacity for nastiness sits alongside his ideology.’

‘What does he say? Remind me.’

‘ “This is what’s fundamentally wrong with this country — Jews, Italians, Japs, blacks; no one likes them, but no one dislikes them enough. They don’t want them in their clubs, or next door, but that’s about as far as it goes.” ’

‘Christ. The bloke Greg and I interviewed said that democracy was Jew thought. We all need to start worshipping Odin.’

‘Yes. He was an oddball. He worried me, though. Anyone who believes that he knows the way to form a perfect society is suspect. It usually involves those in opposition being disposed of. Ideology and human nature aren’t good bedfellows.’

‘I wish I’d been able to remember the exact quotes he read to us from a book he had. Democracy leads to government by Jews. That was one gem.’

‘I thought David Reilly’s briefing notes were thin. I didn’t get a good sense of this Maria Pluschow at all.’

‘David’s experience is wide but shallow.’

‘You mean he belongs to the great D+.’

This was one of Maude’s favourite shorthand tropes. There were smart people at one end of the social continuum, seriously stupid people at the other, and between them sat the great D+. These were the people who made everything work, but who weren’t much given to analysing the world around them.

‘I think Reilly’s a bit better than a D+,’ Titus said. ‘He’s not a bad detective, but he’s constantly surprised that other people aren’t like him and don’t believe the things he believes.’

‘Well, anyway, I don’t trust his account of that interview. It’s too smooth. She says everything he wants her to say without demur, and I don’t believe for a minute that this Maria Pluschow would have been so charmingly compliant.’

‘You’re probably right. I think it’s clear though that none of these people have had anything to with George Starling for years, and I don’t think he’d approach any of them.’

‘Besides, he’s here in Melbourne.’

‘I’m going to have to get in touch with Intelligence again.’

‘Yes, you are. They might know people here, other than the ones who’ve been interned.’

‘I really don’t like those people. Sometimes, Maude, I think the number of people I can’t stand far outweighs the number of people I can stand.’

Maude leaned across and kissed him.

‘I’m so tired, Maudey. I don’t have the energy to talk about the incident tonight. I wish we were in our bed. I don’t like strange ceilings.’

Maude switched off the light and left her hand on Titus’s chest until his breathing told her that he was deeply asleep.
We are a strange species
, she thought, as she drifted into sleep.
We kill each other.

ON SUNDAY MORNING,
over tea and butterless toast, Titus saw for himself the change in his brother-in-law. His voice was firmer, his movements more assured, and there was something altogether more stable about him. Perhaps the shock of seeing Starling had had the unexpected effect of rebalancing rather than unbalancing him. Or perhaps Maude was right, and the effect of being in his own house was remedial. He reiterated that Starling’s visit had merged inextricably into the landscape of his dreams, and he couldn’t say with any confidence that it had actually happened.

‘Joe was there. I know that was real. I didn’t say anything to him. Why didn’t I say anything to him?’

‘You’d come straight from sleep, Tom,’ Maude said. ‘Maybe you were in a sort of fugue state — half-waking, half-sleeping. That can happen.’

‘Like sleepwalking. I need to talk to Joe, Maude.’

Maude looked at Titus.

‘The doctors thought you might need to talk to a professional — a psychiatrist— at some stage, Tom. Maude and I have found a good one, if you’d like to do that.’

Maude had never known Tom to express an opinion either way on the efficacy of psychiatry. She thought he would probably be suspicious of it, but he’d never been the type to express hostility without first looking into things. He surprised her, though, when he said, ‘I’ll have a go at that. I want to talk to Joe as well. There’s so much that I can’t remember.’

‘Do you want to remember?’ Maude asked.

‘There are things that come at night. I can’t get their measure. I want to know what horrors my mind is manufacturing and what it’s remembering. Maybe if I knew the difference it would help. Maybe not, too. Is Joe a good man? I barely know him.’

‘Yes, Tom,’ Titus said. ‘Joe is a good man.’

He decided not to tell Tom that George Starling was hunting Joe — that’s how Titus thought of it — and that he’d burned down Joe’s flat and killed a man in the process.

‘I keep seeing Joe in that room with me, at the end. He was there, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, he was there.’

‘Did they hurt him?’

‘Yes they did, but not as much as they hurt you.’

Tom looked puzzled.

‘Why not?’

‘Only because we got there in time. The intention was to kill you both.’

Maude’s hand covered her mouth. Titus’s statement had seemed brutal to her. Tom wasn’t shocked by it.

‘Yes, I see,’ he said quietly.

‘I’ll see if Joe can visit you here as soon as possible. Are you absolutely sure you’re ready to talk about what happened to you both?’

‘I’m not absolutely sure of anything anymore. I do want to talk to him, though.’

After breakfast Tom returned to the room where a camp bed had been made up for him. As Titus shaved, Maude sat on the edge of the bath and expressed her concerns about Tom and Joe talking together.

‘I know Tom seems relatively fine, Titus, but he’s been practically catatonic for two weeks. This sudden burst of clarity might be worrisome. What if it’s just another, less alarming, symptom of shellshock, if that’s what they still call it.’

‘I know what I’m about to say will sound callous.’

‘Pre-empting it doesn’t necessarily excuse it.’

‘I know, but I have to say this. Tom spent much longer in George Starling’s company than Joe did. He may have vital information that he gleaned that will lead us to Starling. If this period of clarity is a brief anomaly, I’m afraid I want Joe Sable to take advantage of it and see what Tom can remember.’

‘Even if it means forcing Tom to confront things he’s in no shape to confront?’

Titus put down his razor. He concentrated on his reflection rather than catch his wife’s eye.

‘Yes, even if it means that. I’m sorry.’

Maude stood up and left the bathroom without a word. Titus splashed cold water on his face. The chill of it against freshly scraped skin helped quell the sickening feeling in his stomach.

AT RUSSELL STREET,
Titus telephoned Victoria Barracks, but was unable to get through to any of the branches of Military Intelligence. The fact that he was an inspector in the Victoria Police didn’t wash with the woman on the switchboard. She had her orders, and no one whose name wasn’t on the list of authorised personnel in front of her was going to be put through to the Office for Native Policy in Mandated Territory. It didn’t matter that Titus had been able to name that ludicrous cover title. The woman offered to take his name, and perhaps someone would call him back.

‘Could you at least tell me if either Tom Chafer or Dick Goad is on the premises?’

This was met with silence, followed by the non sequitur, ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

Titus hung up. He’d have to go down there and insist that he be admitted. Surely to God a murder inquiry meant something, even to those people.

An hour later, Titus had turned off St Kilda Road and climbed the front steps to Victoria Barracks. He was seething. He flashed his credentials to the air force man on the front desk and said in a voice that brooked no opposition that he needed to see either Tom Chafer or Dick Goad, who worked in the directorate designated the Office for Native Policy in Mandated Territory. The matter was urgent, and he’d appreciate being given full co-operation. Obstructing a police investigation was a serious offence. The air force officer was unfazed by Titus’s anger. He was shouted at by someone almost every day. However, he picked up a telephone and asked to be put through to the requested department. There was a short wait. The officer put his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Who shall I say is calling?’

‘Detective Inspector Titus Lambert of the Homicide Squad.’

The officer’s eyebrows shot up. Someone began speaking at the other end of the telephone.

‘Mr Chafer? There’s a gentleman here who says he has urgent business with you — an Inspector Lambert from Homicide. Yes, I’ve seen his credentials. All right, I’ll tell him.’

He replaced the phone in its cradle.

‘He says he’ll come down.’

Titus’s anger had now subsided. It was a shame that it was Tom Chafer who was on duty. Titus had found his manner objectionable. He predicted, correctly, that Chafer would keep him waiting. He crossed from where he’d been sitting to the officer on the desk.

‘When Mr Chafer arrives, tell him I’m outside.’

‘That’s a bit irregular, sir.’

‘Not for me. Flight Lieutenant, is it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’ll be on the other side of St Kilda Road, sitting on the bench directly opposite.’

‘He won’t be happy.’

‘Mr Chafer’s happiness is immaterial to me.’

It gave Titus unseemly pleasure to sit across from Victoria Barracks and watch Tom Chafer duck traffic as he crossed St Kilda Road. He was still unhealthily thin, his suit still looked too big for him, and he still wore a thin, blond moustache. His hair wasn’t quite as closely cropped as it had been when he’d first entered Titus’s office on Christmas Day. His prominent ears were red, either with indignation or the heat, when he sat down next to Titus. He was in his late twenties, but his self-importance extinguished any deference he ought to have shown.

‘I don’t appreciate being summoned.’

‘I think when we first met I suggested you should make an effort not to be an arsehole. That suggestion still holds.’

Titus stood up and began walking towards the Shrine of Remembrance. Chafer was obliged to follow.

‘What is it you want?’

‘I want to know if you have any intelligence on George Starling. He’s a dangerous, loose cannon, and he poses a serious risk to Sergeant Sable.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s issued threats, and is the main suspect in an arson attack on Sergeant Sable’s flat.’

‘All aspects of the case involving Ptolemy Jones, George Starling, and the others are now covered by the Crimes Act, and I’m not at liberty to discuss them with you.’

Chafer’s pomposity pushed Titus’s patience almost to breaking point.

‘I’d rather discuss this matter with your partner, Mr Goad.’

‘Dick Goad is not my partner, and he’s been moved into another department. He’d be unable to help you.’