Bony Waits
THEROOMoccupied by Bony at the police residence possessed the advantage of ready access from the garden. It was small, plainly furnished, and, being on the south side, cool and airy. Formerly it had been the room occupied by young George Yoti now in the Traffic Branch, Sydney, but Bony was urged to make full use of the desk and, did he wish, young George’s portable typewriter and the shelves of novels.
Bony, showered and changed, was seated at the desk when from the garden door Yoti asked if he might come in. He was welcomed and offered young George’s rocking chair.
“Still half an hour to dinner,” he said. “How’s your day gone?”
“Full of promise,” replied Bony, swinging sideways and crooking a leg over the chair arm.“Haven’t achieved much other than atmosphere and backgrounds.”
“Your Alice McGorr any good?”
“She pleases me, yes. I sent her home with Essen and, I think, she departed with rebellion in her heart, so I rang Essen’s house and gave her an assignment for this evening. As Essen was just leaving, I didn’t delay him. Did he raise anything, d’youknow?”
“Yes and no. He visited all the banks and none had an account in Mrs Rockcliff’s name. I went over to see the Postmaster, he and I being sort of friends and belonging to the same Lodge, and he promised to question his staff and examine his records to find if Mrs Rockcliff had an account at the Commonwealth Bank or received money through the Post Office. Said he would drop over this evening to give us the results.
“Returning to Essen, he visited the woman’s butcher, milkman and baker, and also the grocer. She ran monthly accounts, and there’s a peculiarity about this which might be significant. She paid all her monthly accounts on the 12th of the month… in cash. Seems that she drew money, or was paid money, regularly once amonth, doesn’t it?”
“It would seem so,” agreed Bony.“Anything on her associations here?”
“Nothing, or next to it. She didn’t belong to any women’s guild, or to any sports club, or reading circle. She was a regular borrower from the Municipal Library, and seems to have spent a good deal of her time in the reading room. If she had a friend or friends here, Essen can’t locate any as yet. His sister and her husband say she never had visitors excepting the Rev Baxter, and Baxter says she went to church every Sunday evening, but would not join in church activities. He christened the child at church, but she never took the child there afterwards.”
“What about the agent who let the house to her… references?”
“The boss, named Martin, wasn’t at the office this afternoon, but the clerk told Essen the house was let to Mrs Rockcliff on a year’s lease, and she paid three months rent in advance in lieu of a reference. She took the house on October 12th. Before living there she stayed at the River Hotel, and according to the Lodgers’ Book she arrived at that hotel on October 9th. In a taxi. We dug up the driver of the taxi, and he says she stopped him in Main Street about eleven in the morning and asked him to recommend a hotel. That’s as far back in her history as we’ve gone.”
“H’m! Eleven in the morning. Does that time coincide with the arrival of a train or plane?”
“No. The first train gets in at 2.20 pm, and the first plane arrives at 9.45 am. Seems likely that she came to Mitford by car. Police at Albury up-river and Mildura down-river are going into that angle. Course, she could have come down from a station up north, or from a farm down south. Could have arrived here in a hired car or a friend’s car.”
The old pipe had gone out, and Yoti applied another match, the while regarding Bony with moody eyes, and suddenly Bony smiled and then watched the Sergeant’s face register annoyance.
“We should keep in mind salient facts: some material, others abstract,” he said. “Before I came to Mitford four babies were abducted, and the four crimes were thoroughly investigated. About the time I arrived here you discovered a fifth abduction and a murder. Nothing emerged from the first four baby abductions to give us a lead in our investigation of the fifth. We start with nothing relative to those five babies, yet we must combine those five abductions and attack the problems as one.
“The person or persons who abducted those five children live here in Mitford. They move about as we do. They are, naturally, greatly interested in what we may be doing. Almost certainly they know by now that Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte is in charge, and they will bespecially interested in me. Without doubt, if one person is responsible for those abductions, he, or she, is extremely versatile. When we go back in criminal investigation, we find that circumstances, coincidence, and what may be termed luck have been vital to the success of the investigators or of the criminal. To date, the baby-thief has had the luck, and the investigators have missed out. So what have we?
“A person, acting alone or in collaboration with others, believing he, or she, is extremely clever, but, none the less, must be a little anxious to know what D-I Napoleon Bonaparte is doing and is likely to do. As I’ve often said, if a criminal would be still after the commission of his crime, he would more often escape retribution, but, fortunately for law and order, he cannot be still.
“I’ve no license as yet to say so, Yoti, but I am inclined to think that the murder of Mrs Rockcliff is the first sign that the baby-thief’s luck has ended, and ours has begun. I’ve known men who have robbed a bank, burgled a house, won a confidence trick, men who have pitted their intelligence against scientific investigation, and in doing so proved themselves to be driven by the same sporting urge that drives most of us to back a horse. To these people murder is as alien as it is to you and me. It is the criminal in this class who stole the five babies… or so I incline to think. What therefore is his present state of mind when a murder charge can be directed against him? He must be all hot and bothered. Assuming that he did murder Mrs Rockcliff, say because she recognised him, what would be the natural effect on his accomplice? Recriminations, fear, treachery, all stem from murder. As I said, murder is a spur giving no rest, no peace, no confidence in anyone or anything.”
Yoti, who had not once looked directly at the speaker, continued to stare beyond Bony at a picture of his son in swimming togs. Bony said:
“The effect of murder will affect the minds of those concerned in stealing babies. It must do. Was that your wife calling us?”
Yoti nodded. He wanted to express some thoughts, and subject others to analysis, but he was looking into Bony’s smiling eyes and hearing the pleasant voice say:
“Inevitably, the enemy will make a wrong move, and meanwhile let us not disturb our gastric juices. Now you will apologise to your wife for both of us. We were late fordinner yesterday, remember, and I apologised.”
Yoti grunted opposition, but he made amends and dinner passed off happily. After the meal they crossed to the Sergeant’s office to wait the coming of the Postmaster, but Essen arrived first, saying that Alice McGorr had left his house on what she said was her case.
“Her case!” murmured Bony, and the large policeman smiled, and vowed those were the words she had used while nursing his small son and his wife was serving dinner.
The night had brought no cooling zephyrs, and the three men seated at the table desk wore sports shirts and slacks. To his reports Essen was adding impressions and theories, when voices in the outer office preceded the entry of a man about fifty, greying, energetic, a cheerful smile about his lean mouth and a cast in his left eye. The damp silk shirt clung to his back, and from the waistline where shirt was tucked into trousers he produced four bottles of beer. Having vigorously shaken hands with Bony, he said in the unmistakable drawl of theinlander:
“There’s no hobby as satisfying as beer-drinking, Inspector, and no better place to indulge than Mitford. It’s why I’ve refused promotion to a bigger office. I like a beery climate. Look at Essen. He wasn’t a he-man when he came to Mitford although he did have to shave every day.”
“I was never much good as a policeman after I met you,” Essen countered, returning from a wall cupboard with four glasses and a bottle opener. “Worst thing I ever did was to join your Bowling Club.”
“Don’t believe it,” protested the Postmaster. “Mrs Essen’s as keen on the Club as I am, and Yoti. How’s the baby?”
“Where does he come in?”
“H’m! Bit of muck on the liver, eh? No matter. Take a gulp of that.” To Bony he said: “Hope you play bowls, Inspector. You must join our show. Make you an honorary member. Good crowd. Got a licence, too. Make more money outer the bar trade than the subs.” He eased himself into a chair, raised his glass and drank with appreciation. “Well, now for this Rockcliff woman. Can’t stop long, as I’ve got the Lodge books to get ready for tomorrow night.”
The Postmaster refilled his glass and glared at the other three glasses, in which the tide had only begun to ebb.
“Went back to the office after dinner,” he said. “Place shut up, of course, so I had a free go. Went through the registration books for four months. No registered letter in or out for Mrs Rockcliff. Went through the Money Order section: same result. Finally I made sure my memory wasn’t at fault with the Commonwealth Bank part of the joint, and proved I was correct. No account with the Commonwealth.”
“That’s generous of you, and positively helpful,” Bony said.
“That’s okay, Inspector. Always ready to lend the police a hand. Youknow, diplomacy, and all that. Police can be damned narks. Let me top your glass. Stiffen the crows! Haven’t any of you fellers learned to drink properly? I went a bit further. Telephoned the manager of the State Bank here. No good. No Mrs Rockcliff on his books. He’s a friend of mine. In the same boat.”
“Bowling Club boat?”
“Right.”
“And the Lodge boat?”
“Right again.” The Postmaster drained his glass, filled it and did the trick once more.“Well, so long, Inspector. Bring him out for a gameSat’day afternoon, Yoti. Plenty of beer floatingaround, and the green’s in good nick, too.”
“I shall look forward to a game or two before leaving Mitford,” Bony assured this cheerful man who loved a beery climate.
“It’s a go, Inspector. So long. Me for the Lodge books. What about proposing the Inspector, Yoti?”
Essen accompanied the Postmaster to the outer door, returned to pour drinks and light a pipe.
“Should have the report on those name tags by midday tomorrow,” he said. “Damn funny that woman always paid her accounts on the 12th of each month.”
“An interesting point,” agreed Bony. “My assistant put forward the idea that the money came from a local boy friend.”
“No man ever visited her, according to theThrings,” Essen argued.
“She could have visited the man… at night.”
“M’yes, that’s true.”
“Who belongs to your Bowling Club?”
It was Yoti who replied that the membership was round about eighty and included business people, civil servants, the Stationmaster, the Town Engineer and most of the Councillors.
“What of the managers of the private banks?”
Yoti grinned without mirth.
“They think they’re a cut above our crowd.”
“The doctors?”
“With the private bank managers.”
The telephone shrilled and Essen went out to the duty constable.
“I’d like to get the point clear, Yoti,” Bony went on. “Do the managers of the private banks, the doctors and others on the social summit have a club or association of their own?”
“Yes, bowling green, tennis-courts and golf courses all in one. What prompts the point?”
“That baby theft from the Olympic Bank was the most difficult to carry through, and was dependent on timing and intimate knowledge of the habits of both parents. How many old-time wall telephones are there in Mitford? I notice you have one here.”
“We’ve been promised hand sets when they go over to automatic. Why?”
Essen came in.
“Bloke named Wyatt, No 17 Ukas Street, reports a badly injured aborigine outside his front gate,” he said. “Abo says he was attacked by three men. I rang the ambulance. They’ll be calling here to pick me up.”
“All right!” grumbled Yoti. “Find out what that black-feller’s doing in town after sundown. If he isn’t a hospital case lock him up for the night.”
Essen went out to wait for the ambulance, and Yoti said:
“That Bank case?”
“Probably carried through by people familiar with parents’ habits and knowledge of interior of bank living quarters as well as the banking chamber. Three persons needed. One walked to the lane way leading to the private door. Another rang the manager from a near-by call-box. Manager in his office had to leave his desk, from which he could see his private hall, and stand at the telephone, when his back would be turned. First person opened private door with duplicate key, went upstairs, brought down baby and, leaving by the same door, handed infant to third person waiting on the other side of the board fence. Could have been in the vacant building next to the bank whilst the uproar went on, and stayed there till it was dark.”
“Very neat,” agreed Yoti. “Didn’t Bulford tell you who rang him that afternoon after his wife went out?”
“I did not ask him about that,” replied Bony. “It is stated in the Official Summary that Bulford said no one rang him that afternoon after his wife left.”
“All right, but how did second person know first person was talking to Bulford on the telephone? There’s no call-box in sight of that door.”
“From outside the door the second person could hear the manager at the parlour telephone.” Bony glanced at his watch. “H’m! Almost eleven. Time Policewoman McGorr reported. Remarkable woman, that.”
“Brains, or to look at?”
“She thinks all the infants were stolen because they were neglected. Could be right.”
“Neglected! How the hell does she make that out?”
“Neglected while mother drinks gin in a pub. Neglected while mother gallivants about to plonk parties… plonk being Alice McGorr’s designation of a sherry party. Neglected baby left to cook to rear so that mother can rush off to plonk party. Neglected baby left alone while mother goes out to the library, or to meet a boy friend. Something of a pattern, isn’t there?”
“Could be,” Yoti conceded.
“As we progress other patterns will emerge,” Bony continued. “Timeitself will provide coincidences joining events, coincidences which, it is said, never occur in real police work.”
“Don’t agree. I can name a few for a start.”
“Of course. I was thinking of my biographer’s difficulties with the critics… Ah, sounds like Alice McGorr.”
Alice appeared in the doorway, came striding to the desk. She was carrying that straw hat. The frilly collar of her blouse was torn, and when she tossed the hat upon the desk they saw that something tragic had happened to the crown. Something had happened, too, to her brown eyes, and there was a mark on her negligent chin which could be the beginning of a bruise. Bony placed the chair Essen had vacated, and she flopped into it as though her legs were wired.
“Did you meet with an accident?” Bony asked.
“An incident, not an accident,” she snorted. “I thought I was being tailed before I reached Betty Morse’s house. When we were walking to theDelphs ’ place I was sure. He was still tailing when we left theDelphs, and he was hanging on when I left Betty at her house. So I waited in the dark under a tree. As he went by I grabbed him and marched him to the nearest street light for a look at him. I didn’t like him, and he wouldn’t say what he was after.”
“Awkward, Alice. Did you break anything?”
“Had to,” Alice confessed. “He was twice my weight, and he fell hard. I heard him complaining to a man that his arm was broken, he had a crick in his neck, a sort of concussion and a sprained ankle.”