Bony - 29 - The Lake Frome Monster Page 13

  He watched the two men ride off. He was conscious of being very much an isolated man again and he felt confi­dent that there was much to be done and plenty more risks to be taken before he brought this case as he hoped he soon would to the proper conclusion of an arrest.

  The next day Bony called on Nugget.

  “Well I’ve chucked my job,” he said. “Can’t stand that blasted Fence a minute longer. Needle leaving me like a shag on a rock was the last straw. It’s too damn lonely for me.”

  “Good idea, Ed,” said Nugget. “I don’t know how you stuck it so long; that’s the worst section of the Fence. A bloke like you oughtn’t to be doing that.”

  Nugget seemed in a high good-humour.

  “Yeah, it’s not much of a job,” said Bony, “and the pay’s not wonderful either. Think I’ll mosey along on Sunday night and see Levvey. Reckon he’ll be home at that time?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nugget. “Don’t know much about his movements. Why don’t you get Joyce to call up the station on the wireless and tell him you’ll be down.”

  “Good idea—I might do that,” said Bony. “By the way,” he asked, “I don’t suppose Needle has turned up?”

  “Not a sign of him,” returned Nugget.

  “Well, so long, Nugget, see you around.”

  “Bye,” said Nugget.

  Bony then called on Joyce. “Your wireless still function­ing?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Joyce. “Any message you want passed on?”

  “Wonder if you would do me a favour?” Bony said. “Would you call Lake Frome Station at nine o’clock tonight and tell them I’ll be down Sunday and hope to see Levvey. I’ve chuck­ed my job on the Fence and I hear he is looking for a stockman.”

  All this in a loud voice which Bony hoped would carry to other members of the homestead, and, in particular, to Luke, whom he had noticed busily engaged in washing down the station utility not very far from where he and Joyce were standing. As Joyce walked to the gate with him, Bony said to him in a low voice:

  “And not another word about anything—understand?”

  “All right by me,” said Joyce. “Just what you’ve told me to say and no more?”

  “Just that,” said Bony.

  Bony decided that the Monster was the ideal companion for his trip to Lake Frome Station. This was apparently the country, if any, which the Monster regarded as his home. Certainly it pursued a steady gait, and after crossing the Fence and passing the silver sheen of Bore Ten in the afternoon sun, seemed quite tireless as it rolled along the plain country. Bony was careful to keep well clear of all clumps of trees and to keep to the middle of the open country. He was alert for the slightest movement that threatened danger; but all seemed peaceful. It was impor­tant, he thought wryly, at least to have the opportunity of putting his theory to the test.

  It was also important to Bony that he should not arrive at the homestead in daylight and that the homestead should know that he was coming. That was why he had mentioned it to the people he thought most likely to spread the news to everyone who could have been remotely connected with the strange events of the last two months, and that was why, as he drew nearer to his destination, a sudden chill of apprehension made him wonder whether he was right, or whether he was about to make the greatest fool of himself of all time. Always on the eve of the winding-up of one of his cases, Bony felt this strange disquiet. Gnawing feel­ings of doubt and uncertainty as to his own reasoning pro­cesses possessed him. These, he knew, disappeared immedi­ately it was time to stop thinking and start acting. The long periods of silent plodding investigation, the days and nights of relative inactivity, would only be worth while if he was right. If he was wrong, this would be a blunder which could ruin his career.

  These reflections were brought to an abrupt end as the outbuildings of Lake Frome homestead loomed up in the distance in the gathering dusk. There were lights in the homestead as Bony approached it. He was more careful than ever now. He listened to every sound. The Monster was now showing distinct signs of nervousness. Twice he stopped dead and had to be coaxed and finally kicked into going on, a procedure to which that animal made considerable objection. Bony was surprised to see that there were no cattle in the yards and he then recalled that he had seen hardly any cattle in the fifty-mile ride from Bore Ten to the homestead. This struck him as being particu­larly unusual. He was very thoughtful as he tied the Monster to a post.

  Bony, as is the way in the outback, went to the back door, which in Lake Frome homestead opened directly into the kitchen. He knocked. The door was opened by Levvey and from the appearance of the kitchen table Bony saw that Levvey and his wife had just been having a meal.

  “Oh, hullo, Ed,” he said. “Come in. You go inside for a while,” he said to his wife. “I want to talk business to Ed.”

  “Thanks, Mr Levvey,” said Bony. “I’ve come about that job you offered me. I’ve quit my job on the Fence.”

  Levvey looked at him. Suddenly he went to the door his wife had gone through and turned the key in the lock. “Don’t want to be interrupted,” he excused himself. “Wife gets pretty nosey at times. Can’t let ’er know all me busi­ness. If she knows the whole tribe knows.”

  “Sure,” said Bony, “I understand. Well, like I said, I’m after work. I can handle stock. There’s only one thing, if Needle Kent is here I won’t work with him. The bastard left me properly in the lurch on the Fence.”

  “Did he now?” said Levvey. “And have you got any more theories about that fellow Maidstone you were talking to me about?”

  “Well, I have a few,” said Bony. “You know, a bloke doesn’t get much to do lying out under the stars except think, so I’ve been thinking about these cattle duffers. I think that Maidstone was at Bore Ten at the same time as the cattle duffers went to water the stock, or maybe their horses,” he said. “I think also, that Maidstone took a couple of flashlight photographs of those horses when they were drinking and probably the blokes sitting on them and I think that somebody didn’t like being photographed and proceeded to put a bullet through Mr Maidstone.”

  Levvey’s eyes narrowed.

  “That’s a very interesting theory, Ed,” he said. “Seems to me for a Fence worker, you’ve been taking a great in­terest in this Maidstone fellow and what happened to him. I also hear through the grapevine the blacks at Quinambie think you are a policeman. What would you say about that, Ed?”

  Bony leaned back in his chair, yawned and stretched his hands above his head. In the process he looked at his watch. He answered the question obliquely:

  “I don’t know that I’m much of a policeman, Mr Levvey,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t see things when they’re right under my nose. You’ve been asking me a lot of questions, let me ask you one for a change. How long have you been managing Lake Frome Station?”

  “Don’t know that it’s any of your business, Ed,” said Levvey, “but I’ve been up here for six months. What I’d like to know is why, if you are a copper, and I think you are one, why should you come and ask me for a job?”

  “Oh, well,” said Bony, “I knew Maidstone back round Sydney and he told me he was a cobber of yours and I thought I would like to come and see how you were getting on.”

  There was dead silence in the room.

  “Just what do you mean by that, Ed?” said Levvey. He rose slowly from his chair as he spoke.

  “Just this,” said Bony. “That when Joyce rang up to let you know that Maidstone was coming to Lake Frome Station to visit you at your invitation, it seemed rather a peculiar repayment of the hospitality he had given you at Collaroy to send someone out to put a bullet through him.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Bony, as Levvey reached for a rifle standing in the corner of the kitchen. He pulled out his revolver as he spoke.

  “Now you just sit down there, Mr Levvey, and we’ll continue this interesting little talk.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be continuing it long,” said Levvey. �
�Have a look behind you.”

  “That’s a very old trick,” said Bony, “and personally I’ve never fallen for it.”

  “Well you’d better fall for it this time, you smart aleck cop!” snarled a voice behind him.

  It was Nugget’s voice. “Better drop that revolver,” he continued, “it won’t do you any good. You see, I got a Winchester, after all.”

  Bony slowly dropped his pistol on to the floor and raised his hands.

  “Well, you certainly set it up for me,” he said.

  “We set it up for you, all right,” sneered Levvey. “And you fell for it. We’ll even take you out and show you where the real Jack Levvey is buried and maybe we’ll have another little grave alongside that one. Maybe we might put up a little cross to the memory of a cop who thought he was smart.”

  “I still don’t see how you worked it,” said Bony. “I suppose you and Nugget were in this cattle-duffing business to­gether?”

  “You’re quite right,” said Levvey. “Nobody’s going to hang round the centre of Australia for a few lousy pounds a week. We can sell beef cattle anywhere at twenty pounds a head and no questions asked. There were three hundred head in the last two lots we passed through here. Three hundred head at twenty pounds a head—just work that one out! We only had to keep the game going for another few months then we could disappear and leave everyone to try to figure out the answers.”

  “How did you get rid of Levvey?” said Bonaparte.

  “He met with an accident on the way in,” said Nugget. “Maybe someone was out shooting kangaroos and accidently shot him.”

  “You’re quite wrong about me sending somebody out to shoot Maidstone,” said the man who called himself Levvey. “Maidstone just shot himself. Sure he took photographs of Nugget, and me watering our horses, but that wouldn’t have mattered, but he had to go on and shoot his big mouth off when I introduced myself as Levvey. He said, ‘You’re not Levvey, I met Levvey down at Collaroy’—he left us no option but to kill him, and with you out of the way there’s nobody going to know anything. Besides we won’t be here much longer.”

  “Was anybody else in this with you?” asked Bony. “What about Needle Kent?”

  “That’s the final and last question,” said the so-called Levvey. “We haven’t got all night. The answer’s no—it’s a two-way split, mister. Needle had had a belly-full of work­ing on the Fence and he got paid a few quid to get you out of the road. Besides, he’d like to be a member of Nugget’s family. Nugget told him it was a joke on a mug copper. No, Nugget and I worked this out and Nugget got the job on the Fence to be handy on the spot. He has all the pull with the abos. He comes from the tribe. We decided that whoever the next manager was, no one would expect anyone here to know him and we would be safe for the six months before I was expected to go south on leave or send in detailed reports. It’s a two-way split, except that Nugget here, he likes rifles and does all the shooting. Now he’s going to have a little more practice, aren’t you, Nugget?”

  “You’ll only make things worse for yourselves. You know you can’t get away with this.”

  “We don’t have to get away with it for very long. Just one more clean-up and we will be on our way.”

  Something had gone wrong. Bony was now fighting for time.

  “Suppose you think it over before you do anything you regret. Killing a policeman will make sure you will be extradited, even if you get out of the country.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” said Levvey, with sardonic humour. “They’ll have to find us first.”

  Bony supposed he had been in tighter spots but he couldn’t at the moment remember when. In his eagerness to get the evidence he had overlooked the propensity for even the best-laid plans to go awry.

  “Come on—out!” said Nugget roughly to Bony.

  Bony walked outside, followed by Nugget and Levvey, but some twenty yards outside the kitchen door he halted, as if uncertain which way to go.

  “Keep moving,” said Nugget, digging the rifle savagely into Bony’s back.

  Then everything seemed to happen at once. Bony took a severe but glancing blow on his left shoulder and was flung forward to the ground. Nugget who was immediately behind him took the full brunt of it and was dashed to earth with a sickening thud. The rifle flew wide. It was not until Bony raised himself on his hands and saw in the light from the open kitchen door Levvey dashing from that room, with a large and bellowing mass in hot pursuit, that he realized what had happened. The Monster had either not been tethered properly or had somehow worked himself loose and had gone completely berserk. Squealing with rage, neck outstretched, jaws gaping wide, uvula fully ex­tended, he was now firmly charging the doorway through which Levvey had fled.

  Bony felt firm hands lift him to his feet.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said Wells. “Got off the road into a sand drift. What on earth is going on?”

  “Quick,” said Bony. “Get Nugget, and into the front of the house.”

  Two constables emerged out of the darkness and grabbed the barely conscious Nugget and raised him to his feet.

  Pushing Nugget in front, the party made for the front of the homestead. A badly frightened Mrs Levvey was crouched in the hall.

  “Stay here with Nugget and Mrs Levvey,” Bony ordered the constables.

  He and Wells found their way to the inside kitchen door. It was still locked but it couldn’t withstand the combined charge of Bony and Wells. A most amazing sight met their eyes. Levvey was standing behind a dresser, still so bereft of thought by the sudden emergency that he had not even looked for his key. The Monster, with shoulders wedged in the door frame as far as they could go, had managed to reach the table and was calmly eating half a loaf of bread which had been left from supper.

  It was not until Levvey and Nugget were handcuffed and the Monster secured in a horse stall beyond hope of breaking loose that Bony remembered his sense of grievance.

  “You were late,” he accused Wells. “You nearly made it just in time for the funeral.”

  Wells looked worried. “I tried to explain,” he said, “out there. The track in was badly defined and we got off it and well and truly bogged in loose sand. Had to do the last few miles on foot.”

  Bony looked at him. “Then that was the rumble I heard, of six pairs of policeman’s boots. I thought it was thunder.”

  Wells grinned, visibly relieved. Bony was going to take it well after all.

  Bony turned to the constable who entered the room.

  “Levvey and Nugget are to be guarded all the time,” he said. “I don’t trust the natives round here. We’ll take shifts. We’ll stay the night here and leave early in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the constable. “When am I to go out and shoot that camel?”

  “When are you going to do what?” asked Bony.

  “Shoot the camel,” said the constable.

  For once Bony appeared to be speechless and Wells inter­vened. “I told the Superintendent about it,” he said. “He’d heard the stories, including the one you told me about you and Luke being treed. He said to tell you it was a menace and to destroy it.”

  “That camel could have saved my life and probably did. The Superintendent can come and shoot it himself if he wants to!”

  Wells and the constable exchanged glances. Bony caught a look of warning on Wells’s face.

  “He will be safe until morning, anyway,” said Wells. “You’d better come and get some rest. I’ll take the first shift with the prisoners.”

  Shortly before dawn, Bony woke. His mind went back over the events of the night before. Suddenly he pulled on his boots and went outside. When the constable called him at six a.m. he was back and apparently asleep.

  After breakfast they made ready for departure. The utility was retrieved by one of the constables and some hands from the station, and Wells waited to see that Bony was occupied and said something to the other constable, who went out with a rifle. In a moment he ran back at the double
.

  “That camel,” he cried. “It’s gone. The gate of the yard is open and there’s no sign of it.”

  “That’s funny,” said Bony. “One of the station natives must have let it out.”

  “Yes,” said Wells, looking hard at Bony. “And no doubt the Superintendent will be interested to know what I think really happened.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Bony. “I don’t know why you should worry him, particularly when I wasn’t going to mention how you nearly involved the Department in having to pay superannuation to my widow!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reflections

  IT WAS three weeks later in Broken Hill when Bony met Newton for the last time. Levvey and Nugget had both been charged with murder and remanded in custody with­out bail. They were awaiting the visit of the Supreme Court Circuit Court for trial.

  Needle Kent’s part in the affair had, Bony felt sure, been confined to the one episode when he was led away from the Fence, and beyond reporting the bare facts to his Super­intendent, Bony left it to the Department to pursue him or otherwise as it thought fit. So far no instructions had been received, and Bony guessed that the exact nature of the offence committed by Needle would puzzle the experts, as at the time he, Bony, was emphatically claiming not to be a policeman.

  The ultimate destination of most of the stolen cattle had been traced and the purchasers of those which had not been slaughtered had been surprised to learn that they could gain no title to stolen goods—even cattle. Joyce had arranged for the sale of these cattle on the spot, rather than have them returned to Quinambie, but before his trip south for this purpose, he and Bony had had a short sharp interview with Moses and the males of his tribe. The Quinambie blacks had hastily departed for regions unknown.

  Bony had thought of charging Luke and Charlie the Nut as accessories to the murder of Maidstone, but had decided against it. Inquiries had shown that Nugget had bought the co-operation of the tribe by keeping them well supplied with tobacco, rifles and cash which they could spend on the Syrian. Nugget was too cunning to supply the tribe with liquor, for he knew that this would have led to complaints and would have brought the Aborigines Welfare Board and the police to this area. It appeared also that Nugget was, in fact, old Moses’ son-in-law and it was obvious that the attacks on Bony had been made at Nugget’s direct instigation.