The Recall
“FUNNYhow the Reverend sort of got to like this part of the river lately,” remarked Knocker Harris. “You know, before Benkonked out, me and John had some peace, like. But not since.”
“Mr. Weston doesn’t often fish here?” prompted Bony.
“No. First time he came here fishing was the other afternoon. Come to pump you, like. Ain’t to be trustedfurther’n you could belt with one hand. Landed over at the house one time when Ben and John was coming out of the hoo-jahs, and what he said to them you’d never read about. And them that crook their eyeswas fixed like marbles in a bottle, like.”
“They were, doubtless, rather ill.”
“Ill! You wouldn’t know ’em. Corpses they was, livin ’ corpses. See thatkingy’s eyes? They had eyes like that when theywassoberin ’, like. Dammit, they had mouths like that, too. Sort ofsaggin ’ open. I’d better gut this fish for John.”
Knocker Harris slid forward to kneel beside the fish and proceeded to scale it and remove its innards on to a sheet of bark, as he said, to give to the chooks. He was obeying still the commands of his mother and father- “Waste not, want not”.
“They were truly sick when recovering?”persisted Bony.
“Sick!” echoed Knocker Harris, as though the question was an aspersion upon his friends. “You wouldn’t know ’em, as I told you.”
“There is, you think, something in what John Luton says about the effects of the hoo-jahs being in accordance with the grog?”
“Course there is. I know. I’ve seen them fellers often enough when they was having the hoo-jahs. Last time, it wasknockin ’ hoo-jahs off their ears and shoulders, like. Time before, they wasknockin ’ them off their chests and knees. That was rum, I think. Knooa bloke once who used to have the hoo-jahs onmetho with a dash of battery acid.” Knocker turned from his task to laugh without restraint. “Once, when I seen him in the horrors, you could have got a thousand quid for him from a waxworks joint. He was properly stiff with horror, hair andall, like.”
Knocker took the fish to the river to clean, leaving Bony with the picture of two near-lunatics being nursed by one who, unless of simple mind, could not have borne the load with such patience. The picture gave place to another, of saltbush plain and mulga forest, and two dust-grimed, sweating men stridingbeside groaning bullocks hauling a veritable mountain on wheels. The visions were part of a greater which made psychological sense.
He heard the car turn off the highway and shouted the fact to Knocker Harris. Harris appeared up the steep sandstone bank, taxed by the fish he managed to keep from dragging on the ground. Nodding to Bony, he hurried to the house, yet had to pass the car, which beat him to the gate. Constable Gibley spoke to him, clearly about the fish, and Bony was thrusting hooks into safety corks when the policeman said at his elbow:
“My boss at Mount Gambier rang up about you, Inspector. I’m to inform you that Headquarters, Adelaide, telephoned the following:
“ ‘RequestInspector Bonaparte to obey instruction received by telegram from his Department, so that personal relationship with Adelaide officers can be maintained on friendly footing.’ ”
“Too bad, Gibley,” purred Bony.“Just when I am catching a nice fish or two. When did you inform Adelaide I was holidaying here?”
“I didn’t, sir. I did check up on you with Mount Gambier. According to the book.”
“Quite a little mystery, isn’t it? I am granted leave, and then am peremptorily ordered back to duty. It would almost appear that my presence here is distinctly inconvenient to someone. Would you know who it is?”
“No, sir. I’m only a senior constable.”
“And I, Gibley, am only an inspector. All right! I’ll go quietly. Inform Mount Gambier that I’ll be leaving for Murray Bridge by coach in the morning, and will board tomorrow night’s express for Melbourne. You might reserve my coach seat on your return to Cowdry.”
Gibley looked relieved.
Next morning when Mr. Luton walked with Bony to the highway he was distinctly depressed, and as they waited at the bridge he asked:
“D’youthinkyou’ll be coming back?”
“Some day, I hope,” replied Bony.“Soon, perhaps. Whatever has actuated my chiefs in this matter of recall must be of a most unusual character. That is the reason why, in this instance, I am obeying orders. Well, here comes the bus. I have the address of Ben Wickham’s friend in Adelaide, and I may communicate with him, and present certain facts. Doubtless he will call on you. Thank you for those most pleasant few days under your roof. Should you ever come to Brisbane, I shall be hurt if you don’t look me up. So, aurevoir, Mr. Luton, and all the best.”
Mr. Luton long remembered the flashing smile illuminating the brown face and the blue eyes, and Bony remembered the brilliant background of trees and white bridge behind the tall, erect figure flanked by the two dogs.
Superintendent Boase, Officer in Charge, Criminal Investigation Branch, S. A. Police Department, was tall and rangy, grey and close to sixty. Of him there was nothing remarkable save that his grey hair stoodup, and his grey moustache stood out. When Bony entered his office, the corners of his mouth indicated what the rest of his face wasn’t permitted to do-the smile of welcome.
“Hullo, Bony! How come?”
“Just before leaving Adelaide I decided to run down to Cowdry to spend a few days with an old friend, as I had obtained ten days’ leave. No one here knew of my intention, and I managed to secure a seat in a tourist bus going to Mount Gambier. At Mount Gambier, I spoke to Sergeant Maskell, whom I had met several years ago. It was a personal, not an official, contact, you understand. Told Maskell I was going on to Cowdry for some fishing. On my way up to-day I saw Maskell again, and he assured me he did not, because there was no reason to, report that I was with my friend but a mile or so from Cowdry. Prior to my telegram to Traffic Branch about a car, did you know I was staying near Cowdry?”
“Didn’t even know you sent an ‘Information please’ to Traffic. First I knew of your being down there was day before yesterday when the Chief rang me to check when you left for Brisbane.”
“Would you mind ringing Traffic and asking Tillet what action he took about me, other than supplying information about a car?”
“Not at all.”
“Ask him if he reported my presence at Cowdry to the higher-ups.”
Boase turned to his telephone, and on replacing the instrument, said:
“Tillet says he didn’t mention to anyone your being at Cowdry. Said he had no cause to do so. Thought you were on normal duty. What is this?”
“Yesterday I received a telegram from my immediate superior, Linton, ordering me to report at once. Later yesterday the local constable at Cowdry came to tell me that his Divisional H.Q. had telephoned him to pass a message from Adelaide which isa follow -on to the telegram direct to me. If you know nothing, it would seem that action is being taken on a high level.”
“Certainly seems so. But what’s it all about?”
“What I want to ascertain is: who informed Brisbane I was in Cowdry? Tillet says he’s out. You say you are out. Mount Gambier was straight enough in saying they had not reported my presence there to Adelaide. Will you find out from your high-ups how they learned I was at Cowdry?”
“Sinclair would know. I’ll trot along and X-ray him.” Superintendent Boase tried to stare Bony down, and, not for the first time, was beaten to it. “You know, occasionally you’re the most exasperating feller. You are not pinching anything off my territory, are you?”
“I am merely doing some psychological research work, which I believe might be of ultimate value to the world.”
Boase sighed at such recalcitrance. He was away ten minutes. On being seated again behind his desk, he loaded a pipe and applied a match, and then studied Bony as he might a fingerprint.
“The high-ups didn’t know you were in Cowdry, and didn’t give a damn where you were until they received a hot message from Brisbane asking them to shift you out of South Australia at the double. Someone in Cowdry has put your pot on. What’ve you been doing?”
Bony was about to continue prevarication when Boase began to nod his head portentously. He said:
“You on to another angle of the smuggling racket, eh? Got something of the kind up your sleeve, and think you’ll try to put one over poor silly me. And someone down there with plenty of standing got on to you and blew the gaff to your Department.”
“There could be something in what you suspect,” slowly admitted Bony, delighted with this gift road of escape. “However, it’s a little far-fetched, as my wife would say. That summons from Brisbane cannot be side-stepped, though, and I’ll have to report back. I’ll compile a memo covering my psychological research work which you may find useful, and will post it from Sydney.”
“The subject of your memo wouldn’t be the death of Ben Wickham?”
“How could it be?” Bony mildly enquired. “I understand that you permitted the body to be cremated and the ashes scattered over the dead man’s estate.”
“True enough. Had to. Couldn’t allow the body to explode with booze fumes after it was buried deep in a respectable cemetery.”
“Then why mention Ben Wickham?”
“Interesting bloke, that’s all.” Boase again smiled only with the corners of his mouth. “I suppose the real truth is that you were playing the wag and enjoying a nice spot of sport with the kingfish. I’ve done it myself. Sometimes itdon’t come off, and then you have to run around your pals to find out who the blasted pimp is. If you ever do find the darling who put you away, let me know. I’ll fix him. We policemen have to stick together.”
“Which is why I came to you.”
“Wise guy. You might do the same for me one day.”
“I would not miss the opportunity.” Bony rose to go. “Thank you, Boase. See you again sometime.”
They shook hands, both satisfied, both aware he was not believed by the other. Almost casually, Superintendent Boase asked:
“When will you be leaving Adelaide?”
“By to-night’s express. I’ll fly north from Melbourne. I’ll let you know who pimped on me, and you might arrange something one dark night.”
“You come up all the way by road coach?” asked Boase, idly fingering a document.
“Yes. On arrival in the city, I parked my case and found a cafe where I loitered over a pot of tea and a newspaper. After leaving the cafe, I strolled up King William Street and…”
“Cut. No point,” interrupted Boase.“Asked because I wasthinkin ’ of something else. What about dinner at the Railway Dining Rooms before your train leaves? Meet you there in an hour.”
Bony gladly agreed, and they were given an alcove table where they could talk. After the entree, Boase said:
“You know, Bony, you’re not hard to work with, although you never work to the book. There have been times when I envy you your independence. I am not alone in that, either. You got more pals here than you think. Sinclair’s one of them. Being private secretary to our Chief Commissioner, he’s as near the hub as anyone can be. Yet he knows nothing outside that communication from your own Chief, and he told me he feels there’s a lot he could be told by his own boss.”
“Did his boss issue the instruction to Mount Gambier that made Gibley call on me?”
“Yes.”
“D’youknowSenior Constable Gibley?” asked Bony.
“Met him a couple of times. Bit of a stay-put, apparently.”
“Clean slate?”
“Far as I know. Come off it, Bony. What are you up to down there?”
“I’ll tell you. I went there for the fishing. I stayed with an old character named John Luton. He interested me in the various effects of alcohol on the human brain. In modern parlance, I think he has something. Have you heard anything about that?”
“No. Tell.”
Bony related Mr. Luton’s convictions, which included that covering his belief in the cause of Ben Wickham’s death. When done, Boase was thoughtful. He asked:
“You do much digging?”
“No.”
“Couldn’t have been in Gibley’s report to Mount Gambier. Would have come through to us, otherwise. Still, kind of cranky idea I’d hesitate to pass on when I was a constable. What gives it significance is the possibility that from Luton’s ideas on grog and your interest in his ideas sprang that something which brought about your recall to Brisbane. Must be someone down there so important that if you don’t get back to Brisbane like a bat out of a Nullarbor Cave, you’ll be chucked out of the Department with not the faintest hope of being reinstated.”
“It does seem that someone at Cowdry fears… me.”
“Sure enough,” agreed Boase. “I’ll keep it in mind. Let me know if you should find out what it’s all about, will you?”
Bony concurred.
“These are funny times, as you’ll agree,” Boase said, seriously. “Sort of complex to what they were before the war. They talk about the cold war as though it is something going on millions of miles away. I know of at least two cold wars going on here in Adelaide, and not between the Russians and us, either. Yes, I’ll keep this Cowdry business in mind. Time to go. I have an order about you. Have to see you off the State premises.”
“Indeed!” politely murmured Bony.
“Yes. Nothing personal. I asked for a good companion. Nice-looking and smart. She’ll accompany you as far as Serviceton.”
The policewoman was all that Boase said of her. She was wearing a tailored suit, and Bony was presented to her on the platform. They sat together in the first-class compartment, and at Serviceton she expressed regret that she had to leave the train and catch the incoming express back to Adelaide. Serviceton is just outside the South Australian border, and the Melbourne-Adelaide expresses pass a few miles beyond this point.