Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

Mr Jason put down his pen before he could have caught up with the doctor’s evidence and stared blankly at witness. Bony cast a swift glance at Mr Watson, and Mr Watson was standing up on his island of paper sheets, his mouth open, his pencil held on high. The silence was so profound that the cackling of a kookaburra in a near-by tree seemed to thunder on the ear-drums. Down went Mr Watson like apoleaxed bullock, to sprawl over the table and continue to write with even greater rapidity. It seemed that Mr Jason waited for the kookaburra to cease its cackling laughter before he sent his rich and full voice over the head of the public.

“What, Doctor, does that infer… exactly?” he asked.

“It infers that the deceased died of asphyxiation produced by strangling, and not asphyxiation produced by hanging. The mark by the strap was in accordance with death from hanging, and in front of the neck the mark was higher than the larynx. It was, therefore, not the strap which injured the larynx so much that it was fractured.

“With the aid of a glass I found a second mark with very littleecchymosis, save at the back of the neck. It was this second mark indicated clearly how the larynx was fractured, and here and there along this mark round the neck were small areas ofecchymosis in a kind of crisscross pattern, indicating that this ligature was not a strap or a rope but a strip of some material.

“I examined deceased’s mouth and his hands. Under his fingernails and also in the congealed blood on his injured hand I found fibres which microscopicexamination prove to be jute fibres. It would appear that deceased was strangled to death with a strip of hessian.”

“Hessian!” repeated Mr Jason loudly.

“Yes, sir, hessian. It would seem that deceased was first strangled with a ligature of hessian sacking, and then his body was hanged from the crossbeam of the hut.”

“You infer that the deceased was killed and did not kill himself?”

“That is what I infer, sir.”

Mr Jason’s voice was almost a screech.

“That deceased was murdered by being strangled and that then his body was hanged to simulate murder? Is that your opinion?”

“Those are the facts, sir,” Dr Scott said slowly.

The cackling of the kookaburra without would have made a welcome entry into the dead silence within the court. Even Mr Jason’s angry pen seemed to make no more sound than a hissing snake at the bottom of a well. Presently he laid down his pen and looked up.

“Have you anything more to add?”

“No, sir.”

“Any more witnesses, Sergeant?”

Marshall replied in the negative.

“You cannot establish the identity of the deceased person?”

“Not yet, your honour. Inquiries are being made in Broken Hill, where, it is thought, the man was recently in hospital.”

Mr Jason pondered. Mr Watson hurried outside, Bony guessed to go to the post office. His telegrams to his papers were going to cause irritating commotion. Mr Jason’s voice broke in upon his thoughts:

“I adjourn this inquiry for one week… to ten o’clock on December thirteenth.”

No one in the courtroom moved, other than Mr Jason, who, with grave deliberation, gathered his papers together and placed them in an attache case. Then he glared at the gathering over his spectacles for an appreciable period of time before rising abruptly to his feet.

Only when he disappeared through a door at the end of the Bench did the people present get noisily to their feet and stream outside, everyone talking as though to relieveovertaut nerves.

“Whatd’youknow about that?” Hudson asked Bony. “Getting interesting, ain’t it? Coming over for a drink?”

“Not just now. Mrs Marshall will have the lunch ready, and I’m not missing that part of my wages,” Bony told him. “See you later, perhaps.”

He began his afternoon work on the police station fence promptly at two o’clock, and five minutes later he observed Dr Scott and Marshall accompany the coroner to the morgue behind the station residence. They were there a bare ten minutes, and then returned to the office, where, Bony guessed, the doctor would sign his certificate and Mr Jason would give his authority for the burial of the body.

At three o’clock he learned from Marshall that his guess had been correct and that the unnamed swagman was to be buried at four that afternoon.

“I’ll have to go,” Marshall said. “Care about coming, too? I could conscript you as a bearer.”

“Yes, I think I’ll go. Any reply to our telegrams?”

“No. Bit early.”

At one minute to four o’clock the ancient hearse was driven out of the garage and stopped at the police station gate. Young Jason was at the driving wheel. He wore his cloth cap right side foremost. He was arrayed in his working overalls. In the corner of his mouth was the unlighted cigarette end. Mr Jason was in his funeral regalia, the metamorphism of his outward garments being almost as remarkable as that from his character of deputy district coroner.

Having alighted, Mr Jason shot hiscuffs, set his top hat more firmly on his dark head, which advancing years seemed slow to whiten, and stared at Bony. Young Jason rolled the cigarette end to the opposite side of his mouth, got to the ground, and stood glaring at his father.

Two men crossed the street from the hotel. Harry Hudson and the hotel yardman, engaged for the afternoon by the Merino mortician. Bony became a third, with young Jason the fourth. They carried the coffin to the morgue, where Mr Jason with his usual solemn decorum supervised theencoffining of the remains. The main street of the township was thronged by waiting spectators. Those in the street opposite the police station saw Mr Jason coming ahead of the four bearers carrying the coffin to the hearse. He looked something like a major-domo leading a distinguished guest into the presence of his master or a drum major at the head of his band.

“The coffin must weigh more than the body,” remarked Harry Hudson, his voice a little thick. “How much will the old man get for this planting, Tom?”

“About as much as when we plant you,” came the surly reply from young Jason. He was ahead of Bony, who saw that despite his ungainliness and the shortness of one leg, he did his work with ease.

“Youain’t looking forward to planting me, are you?” Harry mildly inquired, liquor mellowing him and not rousing his temper.

“Can’t say that I look forward to planting anyone, especially on a hot day,” stated young Jason sourly. “Ileaves the anticipation act to the old man.”

“He seems to enjoy a good and heartyplantin ’,” observed the yardman.“I ’ad an uncle once who went to every funeral about the place, grew flowers specially to take to ’em, and it was a fair-sized town, too. ’ E just loved funerals, but your old man, ’e just loves ’imselfat one. Properly enjoys ’em.”

Mr Jason, having arrived at the rear of the hearse, threw wide the doors and stepped back. The bearers slid the coffin into the interior. Thereupon Mr Jason reverently closed the doors, his white face and dark moustache, his top hat and frock coat perfectly in tune with the vehicle in which he took such evident pride.

Young Jason crawled into his driving seat. His father stood up beside him… as if to enjoy his great moment. He surveyed thepeople gathered under the pepper-trees, the bearers, and Gleeson, who was standing at the police station gate. Mr Jason waited, a frown settling about his eyes.

“Do we stay put all day?” asked his son loudly. “I promised old Sinclair his truck at five.”

“The cortege has not yet assembled,” Mr Jason said as loudly and with emphatic disapproval.

“But we can go on,” argued his son.

“Wait.”

“Oh, all right, blast it,” growled his son.