“Needless to say the Americans don’t know about Paulson and his links to New Zealand intelligence. General Shearer would prefer to keep it that way, as I’m sure you can understand.”
“Absolutely,” Pollock agreed. “Last thing anyone in Alice wants to do is get the Yanks off side.”
“I thought you might see it that way,” Luckman told him honestly.
“But our blokes had been fairly certain this was just a domestic,” Pollock insisted. “The man we arrested at the murder scene…”
“Wozza?”
“Billy Warigal, yeah – he’s the brother of Paulson’s housekeeper, Daisy Moreton. We thought maybe old Father Clarence had been slipping Daisy the pork sword and Warigal found out about it.”
“Well I’d very much like to be kept appraised of the situation,” said Luckman.
“Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? You being here at exactly the same time he was murdered?”
“It may be no coincidence,” he conceded honestly. “You said your officers ‘had been’ certain. Has that changed? Is there anything else that might lead you to believe this wasn’t merely a domestic gone wrong?”
“The initial post-mortem examination suggests the body had been moved. It’s also possible Paulson had been dead for several days, although that’s yet to be confirmed.”
“Have you searched Father Paulson’s house yet?”
“I was just about to head over there when you showed up.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
Pollock chewed on his lip as he mulled it over. “S’pose not.”
Twenty-Seven
After 10 minutes of waiting for Pollock outside the station, Luckman started to wonder whether the detective had blown him off. He checked for signs of activity through the first-floor window of the station but saw nothing. He did, however, notice Wozza’s girlfriend leaning forlornly against the building.
“They let you go then?” he inquired.
“Who wants to know?”
“I was there this morning – when you and your friend were arrested.”
“Oh yeah,” she remembered. She sounded older than she looked.
“What’s your name?”
“Charlotte. What’s yours?”
“Luckman. Any idea what’s going on, Charlotte?”
“I dunno, weird shit. Cops are thinkin’ we just another cuppla boongs on the grog and sleepin’ in the dirt. We had a couple but we weren’t pissed.”
“How’d you get down to the river last night?”
She stared at him like she resented the implication. “I dunno.”
“Listen, I don’t think you and your friend did anything wrong. What do you remember?”
“I dunno, it’s all like a dream. I can’t remember.”
“Any idea why you can’t remember?”
She shook her head like it was so far beyond comprehension it was impossible to put into words. “We weren’t drunk.”
He nodded. “I heard you mention a bright light.”
She glared at him, as if waiting for him to poke fun.
“I saw a bright light too,” he admitted. “I’m staying at the Riverview Motel. I saw it this morning. Around dawn. Like a giant spotlight.”
Her eyes widened. “From the sky. I saw it. Wozza don’ remember. But ah know he didn’t hurt that priest. We liked Father Clarence – he paid blackfellas to work for ‘im. Wozza wanted a job too, he wanna work with his cuz.”
“So there were more people working for Father Paulson besides Daisy?”
Charlotte looked suspicious. “You got a lot of questions, Army man.” She said it like she was calling him a traitor to his own kind.
“Do you think there’s any chance Father Paulson and Daisy were doing the dirty?”
She shook her head. “The Father had his fingers in a few pies but Daisy wasn’t one of ’em.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckled. He heard a car horn. Pollock had pulled up out the front of the station. “You should go home,” he told Charlotte. “No point hanging around here. They won’t release Wozza any time soon.”
Luckman walked to the curbside and pulled open the front passenger door of Pollock’s white Ford Falcon. The interior stank of stale cigarette smoke.
“You won’t get any sense out of her,” said Pollock.
“On your own, eh?” Luckman asked him.
“I thought you might prefer discretion.”
“I take it you’ve been trying to check me out.”
Pollock’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Couldn’t raise anyone in Canberra. Something wrong with the damn phones.”
“Keep trying,” Luckman urged. “And General Shearer is in Brisbane right now: Amberley Air Base. You could probably raise them on short wave. I’d hate you to think I was trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes.”
The journey from the police station to Father Paulson’s house took them right past the crime scene.
“None of our boys spotted Charlotte and Warigal anywhere near the river until just after dawn,” said Pollock. “The night patrol is scared shitless they fucked up, but they’re insisting that part of the river was quiet as the grave – ’scuse the pun. It was a quiet night. No drunks or troublemakers anywhere. So I’d like to know what brought those three to that spot at four in the morning?”
“Strange place for them to have a fight,” Luckman agreed. “If Warigal was going to confront Father Paulson surely he’d do it at the priest’s home?”
“He and Charlotte could just have been dumping the body. We’re not certain where the priest was murdered.”
“So why’d you let Charlotte go?”
“Oh look whatever happened wasn’t her doing. She’s a pain in the arse but she’s harmless. She’s better off at home neglecting her kids,” Pollock spat, blustering past what might have been an act of compassion. “Anyway, we know where to find her,” he added.
Clarence Paulson’s house was almost invisible from the street, hidden behind a high rendered wall. A large gun metal grey gate barred entry to the driveway. Pollock turned off the engine and walked up to a buzzer near the gate. Apparently someone was home because the gate began to open automatically. Leaving the car outside, they walked along a curved gravel driveway to the front door of a nondescript single-storey yellow brick house – probably late 1960s vintage.
“The uniform guys will be along soon to tape off this front yard so if you see anything don’t touch it,” Pollock warned.
“Fair enough,” Luckman replied.
Daisy Moreton was waiting on the front doorstep. She was an attractive Indigenous woman in her early 30s. Her eyes were red, most likely from crying. She waved them indoors without a word.
As he crossed the threshold, Luckman caught a glimpse of movement behind her. Was there someone else in the house? He got the distinct impression it was the same someone who had met him at Bar Doppio in town.
“Why didn’t you answer the phone when I called earlier?” Detective Pollock demanded.
“Didn’t want to talk,” said Daisy.
Luckman realised this meant phones somehow still worked inside the town limits.
“I take it you’ve heard what happened,” Pollock continued.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Who told you?”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows. People bin comin’ over this mornin’ to say sorry.”
“What do you mean say sorry?” asked Pollock.
“They sorry Father Clarence is dead. Everyone loved him.”
“Is there someone here with you in the house?” Luckman asked her.