Bony - 28 - Madman's Bend Page 11

  The river itself was silent. The late afternoon was drowsily preparing itself for the coming night: roosters crowing, sheep bleating, the voices of men, crows in com­motion, an engine softly generating electricity. The sun­light this late winter evening was not unbearable to meet with the eyes, and, since crows always interested Bony with their language, he sought to determine where they were and what they were saying.

  A hundred yards above the entry to the shallow billabong separating the river bank from the house garden crows stood on the bank, and others flew about. Settled upon the sheet of gold a foot or so from the bank were two crows, and, because a crow cannot walk on water, they instantly became of interest.

  “If you will excuse me, I’d like to see what those birds are excited about,” Bony said. “Crows are not likeable birds, but they see everything, say everything, know every­thing.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Mrs Cosgrove, dropping her hands from shielding her eyes. “Have you heard the story of what father crow advised his son? No? Well, father crow said to his son, ‘If you see a boy, don’t fly too near him; and if you see him picking up a stone, fly away fast.’ The son said, ‘I’ll remember that, father. But what do I do if the boy puts his hand in a pocket?’ ”

  “Unnecessary to try teaching grandmother to suck eggs,” Bony observed, chuckling. They left the levee near the pumping-plant, crossed the billabong to escape the deep-sided entrance, and so came to the bank proper a few yards from the crows, which whirled upwards yelling their protest.

  The counter current against the bank held the crows’ platform almost motionless. It was lying face downward, only the back of the head and the buttocks showing above the surface. Mrs Cosgrove stifled an exclamation of hor­ror, and Bony felt a swift-rising coldness at the back of his neck.

  As the thought had flashed into Bony’s mind that the crows probably were attracted by a dead sheep, but might also be attracted by a human body, the shock of the dis­covery was not instantaneous. Besides, the sun was shining in a flawless sky.

  “Please have several men come with ropes and things to get it up,” he said, his voice so calm that it did not betray his emotion. He was conscious of Mrs Cosgrove hastening away while he looked for a forked stick. Finding one, he broke off one branch of it to make a hook, and began the descent to the body.

  The exceedingly steep slope was bare of herbage or rock on which to obtain a secure footing and, although dry, it was not reliable because of its pebble-like surface. Bony went downward sideways, and on reaching the water dug with a heel to create a narrow ledge for his feet. Then with the stick he was able to draw the body to the bank and hold it there.

  The discovery and the situation of the body were not entirely coincidental. Every experienced bushman can detect the moods of a crow and is familiar with its habits, and any observant person would have noticed the slow but reverse current against the bank. Crouched there, clinging with heels dug into the slope—for to slip would mean not only immersion but great difficulty in crawling from the water with wet hands and clothes—Bony could be pardoned for feeling intensely gratified, if not trium­phant. To him it seemed an hour before he heard voices and, looking up, saw the arrival of several men with the overseer. One said, “Crikey! It’s Lush all right.”

  “Hold to it, Inspector,” Vickory urged. “We’ll get a rope down to you.”

  The end of a rope was fastened about the trunk of a tree, and the free end whirled down to Bony, who with his disengaged hand was able to wind it about his waist. An­other rope was so arranged, and the overseer came down by it to join him.

  “I’ll fix this to it and we can drag it up,” he said, and was stopped.

  “Yes, secure the body, but we mustn’t drag it up the bank to be further injured. Have someone fetch a wide board or a sheet of iron. Have a rope attached to that. Then we can manoeuvre the body to rest on the board or sheet and so bring it up.”

  “Good. I see the idea,” said Vickory, and shouted orders.

  Two men departed for the sled; others were arriving. The overseer secured the body, and Bony, who was begin­ning to suffer from cramp, pulled himself up by his rope.

  “Is it Lush, Inspector?” asked Ray Cosgrove.

  “It would be astonishing were it not,” replied Bony, and flexed his legs to be rid of the stiffness. “Anyway, the body will have to be put into a shed until a post-mortem can be made. Will you see to that?”

  “Of course. Another trip for Leveska, who will roar and scream.”

  A man brought a sheet of roofing iron with holes punched at one end to take the rope, and this was lowered to Vickory. He pushed the sheet under the body, and on it the body was drawn up the bank. An old woolsack was placed over it, and, on sticks, sheet and body were con­veyed to the carpenter’s shop.

  Men gathered about outside, including the gang Mac­Curdle had working in the woolshed. The bearers were told to leave the shed, and then Bony called for a volun­teer with a strong stomach. Surprisingly, it was little Jacko who stepped forward, saying he had once been an under­taker’s assistant.

  He was asked to turn the body on its back, and Bony waited for Ray Cosgrove to identify it.

  “It’s Lush,” he said, and stumbled out into the last rays of the sun. Bony, whose fear of the dead had always been with him, wanted to rush out after him, but, controlling himself, asked Jacko to remove the clothes. He was forced to turn and stare through the window until the little man said the task was finished.

  “Inspector,” Jacko presently called. “Come and take a decko at this.” Bony knelt opposite him. “There’s a hole in his head, just above the left eyebrow. Could be Bill Lush was shot.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bony Gains Co-operation

  THE FACE beyond the corpse was distinctly triangular, tapering sharply from the broad forehead surmounted by thick dark hair to the pointed chin. The eyes were set wide apart. They were hazel in colour, and now bright and excited.

  “When I seen him floatin’ face down I knew he hadn’t been drowned,” said Jacko. “Drowned people always rise face up. This bloke’s got a bullet in him, unless it came out at the back. Wa’da you know?” It was the blue eyes which broke the clash with the hazel eyes. “Been in the water days, by the look of him. Yabbies been at him, too. No blood, but the hole’s here. You can see.”

  Bony sensed that the little man had seen the fear in his eyes and even now felt the fear in him. He called to his aid his constant ally, pride, and gazed upon the face of the dead. Jacko placed the tip of a finger on the dead man’s forehead. When he withdrew the finger it was obvious that he had performed no great feat of deduction, for the rounded edge of the flesh was torn and lacerated by the yabbies. Bony pressed upon the area with a finger and could feel the circular hole in the frontal bone.

  “Any damage denoting exit of bullet?”

  Jacko shook his head.

  “Can you hold a clothes-peg by the tip of your tongue?” he asked, hoping his voice contained no tremor.

  Jacko emitted a sound between a snigger and a chuckle.

  Try me, Inspector. I’ve had my tongue so loaded with pegs it nearly fell down to me knees. You want me to keep quiet about this?”

  “For a few days. Think you could oblige?”

  “I’m the most obligin’ bloke on the river.”

  “Good! Cover it, and let’s get out.”

  The men had gone, leaving Vickory and Ray Cosgrove to await the outcome of Jacko’s administrations. Bony hurried to the shower house as Jacko asked for carbolic, and a couple of plugs of tobacco to go along with. Half an hour later Bony was in contact with Superintendent Macey.

  “We have taken the body of William Lush from the river, Super,” he reported. “Been in the water several days. There is sufficient evidence to indicate that Lush was killed by a bullet.”

  “Ah!” breathed the distant police chief. “Something in the story about the doors after all.”

  “There might be.”


  “You sound like a cautious lawyer, Bony my old pal. It means, of course, a post-mortem, and this will be diffi­cult to arrange right away. Leveska’s gone down to Sydney. Looks as though the body will have to be temporarily buried, unless I can persuade another medic to drive down there. Going to take time by road, too. River’s getting miles wide.”

  “Very well, Super, I’ll have the body buried, and you will obtain the necessary authorization. Clear?”

  “Quite! You got far along the track?”

  “I’ve been looking it over, and started Lucas on in­quiries. This latest development is of great interest because not expected.”

  “What did you have to do with it? I’ll bet you had some part in it.” Bony told about the crows on a voyage. “Yes, trust you to look-see about those birds. You were in luck, though. The body could well have stayed in the middle of the river and been carried miles downstream, and then it might have been years before it was found, if ever. Still, that’s how it’s always been with you, Bony. Good reasoning, plus luck. With me it had to be reason­ing all along with luck looking in as rarely as a pig sip­ping beer. I hope to hear from you in the morning.”

  Bony next contacted Constable Lucas.

  “Should have rung you before, Lucas, but in the first place I was absorbed by other matters, and in the second we have just taken Lush from the river.”

  “Then that does start something,” said Lucas.

  “Further, it appears likely that Lush was shot through the head.”

  “O-oh! The doors again!”

  “That’s what the Super thinks. I’m not betting on doors at the moment. Did you check with the mail driver?”

  “I did. He says that after passing the Crossing, up-river as you’ll remember, he met no vehicle, but did meet two swagmen he knew only by sight. They were about three miles south of the utility and travellin’ north. He described Dead March Harry and Mick the Warder. Said he warned them about the river, and they seemed sur­prised the flood was so near. Can I be curious, Bony?”

  “Curious people invariably have my approval.”

  “What’s to be done with the body?”

  Bony related the gist of his conversation with Macey, and when Lucas again spoke his voice was enthusiastic.

  “We could get Father Savery to do it. We’ll want that bullet for ballistics, won’t we? Soon as possible.”

  “I am aware of the urgency,” Bony said, a trifle stiffly. “I understand the Father is a Catholic priest.”

  “ ’Course he is, Inspector,” agreed Lucas in a manner betraying that Bony’s curtness hadn’t gone unnoticed. “But he’s a fully qualified physician, too. I learned this afternoon when warning the homestead about Lush that he’s staying the night at Linley Downs. Leaving tomorrow for Bourke. He could make it via Mira.”

  “Think he would do the job for us?”

  “No harm done by putting it on him. Shall I try?”

  Bony hesitated before saying, “I will contact the Super again, and confer with him. I’m out of my State—not that I have respect for regulations and procedure. I’ll call you back.”

  Superintendent Macey said that Father Savery had often assisted the law, and that, since Mrs Cosgrove was a Justice of the Peace, certain formalities could be observed and the body decently interred. He suggested that he him­self should contact Father Savery, and to this Bony natur­ally agreed. He was at dinner when the extension to the house phone shrilled, and Ray Cosgrove returned to say that Macey wished to speak to him.

  “We are to have a noted visitor tomorrow,” he said when again at table, and, as was his habit, kept them waiting until his hostess asked, “Well, Bony, who is it?”

  “Father Savery,” he replied and then, turning to Ray and Mr MacCurdle, smiled meaningly.

  “That will be nice,” Mrs Cosgrove said. “We mustn’t forget the wind indicator, Mac—and be ready to drive over to bring him in immediately we hear his plane. Why is he coming, d’you know?”

  “To read the service, one might presume,” Bony replied.

  “But Lush isn’t, or wasn’t, a Catholic.”

  “Perhaps he is coming to wish us well in our efforts to vanquish the flood.”

  “You can be provocative, Bony,” asserted Ray. “Now, I’m a good deducer and will work it out. Macey calls you. You tell us Father Savery will be coming tomorrow. We have a dead man on the premises. Being both a priest and a doctor, Father Savery could carry out a post-mortem and then bury him.”

  “But he wasn’t a Catholic,” Mrs Cosgrove persisted.

  “Better be buried by Father Savery than with no one reading over him. Lush won’t mind.”

  “Your levity isn’t appropriate, Ray.”

  “Sorry, Mother. I’m right, aren’t I, Bony?”

  “You are correct,” admitted Bony. “I admire your pers­picacity. It happens that Doctor Leveska is away in Sydney, and thus not available.”

  “Wouldn’t come, anyway. Leveska attends only desper­ately ill people.”

  Later in the evening Bony begged to be excused as he wished to telephone Constable Lucas from the office. Having informed him of what Superintendent Macey had done relative to Father Savery, he asked the constable to persuade the flying priest to call first at White Bend.

  “I’d like you to fire six shots from that thirty-two, and six from the forty-four. You know, into a blanket hung on a line, or into deep sand. I’d like to have these bullets taken by the Father to Macey, together with the bullet I’m hoping he finds in Lush.”

  “I’ll talk to Father Savery right away. He’ll agree to land here as the strip’s in fair condition. The bullet specimens I’ll have ready for him. What about the rifles?”

  “Keep them in a safe place. Good night.”

  When MacCurdle came to the office he found Bony in the private room.

  “Come in, Mac, and pay me my shilling,” said Bony.

  “You must have worked fast. Coming back with the boss along the levee, I guess.”

  “She is imaginative, and Australia has done a lot for her. Sit and smoke. I’d like to gossip for a little while. What kind of man was her husband?”

  “Like a playful pup,” replied the manager, “I didn’t meet him until after the war. He was in England when it started, and he joined the RAF. His father died in ’forty-three, and through Dalgety’s I was sent here to run the place. Mrs Cosgrove senior was also dead. When John Cosgrove came home with his wife and baby Raymond, I was asked to continue. In ’fifty-three John Cosgrove died of cancer, and I lost a good friend.”

  “How did you get along with Mrs Cosgrove?”

  “At first badly. She was difficult, as you may imagine. I found myself managing her as well as the property. Then we lost the best part of it under Closer Settlement. Has a rough edge to her tongue, but we get along all right.”

  “And the son, Raymond?” pressed Bony.

  “Nice enough young chap,” MacCurdle replied. “Did no good at school, though. Four years down at Wesley. Mrs Cosgrove had plans for him, but in the end she had to give up and let him come home. He’s coming to be a good sheep man, however. He was inclined to be uppish for a while, but that was smoothed out.”

  “I understand the Cosgroves were friendly with the Maddens. Can you support that?”

  MacCurdle hesitated, applying a match to his pipe before saying:

  “I can in part. John Cosgrove was very friendly with Madden and his wife. Mrs Cosgrove was always a bit stand-offish.”

  “Any reason?”

  “Well, you know how it goes, Bony. In Australia a man is placed in the chook order on the job he has and the money he has. In the Old Country he’s placed by what his grandfather was, and his father. Jeff Madden was a dam-sinker before he was granted his land under the Closer Settlement. He did well, but once a dam-sinker always a dam-sinker, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do. In confidence, Mac, do you know that young Ray and Jill are very much in love, and that they are afraid of bringing
it into the open?”

  The manager smiled broadly. “One day we omitted to send an important letter, and I took it to the box, Ray having already left with the bag. I caught them kissing behind a near-by tree. I think everyone knows, bar Mrs Cosgrove.”

  “Her reaction would be hostile, you think, also?”

  “I feel sure it would. Ray confided in me and I advised him to wait a while.”

  “You say everyone. What of Lush?”

  “That I don’t know. I was referring to people here.”

  “I am interested professionally, Mac. Tell me, how does Ray spend his evenings?”

  “Reads a bit, I think. Then there’s the radio. Spends an hour or so playing cards with the Vickorys …”

  “Pardon my persistence. Did he often go a-courting at night?”

  “I expect so.” MacCurdle’s eyes twinkled. “I know I would have done at his age, and having his opportunities,”

  MacCurdle saw the blue eyes harden.

  “Try to be more explicit.”

  “I do recall one night when Ray was wanted by his mother. It was about legal papers. Ray wasn’t on hand, and I slipped across to Vickory, and he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t with the men, as sometimes he might be. He had some explaining to do the next day, and got out of it by saying he’d gone fishing. He admitted to me he’d gone to court Jill Madden as that night Lush was in town.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Flying Priest

  THE NEXT morning breakfast was advanced by half an hour, and at seven o’clock heavy engines disturbed the cold morning and men began work on the levee. The river had risen five feet, the rise estimated by MacCurdle at six inches per hour, and the morning was less golden.

  Bony visited the men’s cook, a man both solid and stolid, with no hair, gimlet black eyes and a pale com­plexion. In the outback he was an oddity, and he actually spoke with the accent that radio and film actors habitually use when portraying the common working man—an accent that originally came from the inner slums of Sydney and Melbourne, where the cockney accent once was prevalent.