Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

Bony walked along the street running parallel with the creek, passing sheds and tiny houses seemingly full of coloured women and children. He took a turn left and came to the general store owned by Mrs. Sayers. The light of the westering sun tinted with gold the ugly iron buildings, and beyond the marsh skirting the creek the white gulls circled. Seated in his car parked outside the store was Johnno.

“Good-day!” he shouted long before Bony could halt at the car window. “You take a walk, eh? How you like Broome?”

“Reasonably well,” conceded Bony. “Doesn’t anyone ever go out fishing?”

“Fishing! You want to go fishing?” With flashing teeth and sparkling eyes, Johnno expressed his delight andamazement, that anyone like Bony would want to go fishing.“All right! You tell me you like to go tomorrow, the day after, and we go. I have nice friend with motor-boat. We always arrive, but sometime the fish they are sleepy. Never mind. We have sleep, too.”

“I’ll remember that,” promised Bony. “Where are all the pearl buyers?”

Johnno almost choked with laughter.

“Pearls all finish,” he managed to get out, and, having regained breath, he went on with his usual volubility: “One time plenty pearls. One time plenty divers. One time this place full up with people: Javanese, Malayans, Japanese. All plenty money.” Shoulders and dark arms worked overtime within the confines of the car. “Gamble all night. Drink up all night. Eat up and drink up. Pearls, sometimes. Now, no pearls. Maybe one, maybe two in season.”

“Then the pearl dealers don’t do any business now?”

“No pearl dealers. All gone… back home.”

“Isn’t Mr. Flinn a pearl dealer?”

Johnno made a face and shrugged… Bony shied off Mr Flinn.

“Well, I’ll be getting along, Johnno. I’ll let you know about the fishing, eh?”

“You tell me, and I tell my friend, yes,” assented Johnno, and Bony passed on from the car to enter the store, which was about to close. He had gained the veranda when through the doorway came Mr. Rose and Mr. Percival.

“Remind me, Percival, that we contact Leggit on Wednesday morning about that special order,” Mr. Rose was saying when he saw Bony. Both men were dressed in white drill and wore sun-helmets and canvas shoes. Mr. Rose regarded Bony with a frown, but it vanished when Bony greeted him.

“You really have the advantage of me,” Mr. Rose said, genuinely embarrassed. “You know, I’m such a fool. Where did we meet?”

“This is Mr. Knapp,” interposed Mr. Percival. “Mr. Knapp came to our Activities Day with Mrs. Walters.”

“Ah! Of course, yes. I must be growing old.” Mr. Rose smiled broadly. “We are so apt to do that. Are you enjoying your stay in Broome, Mr. Knapp?”

“Very much so,” Bony replied. “It has the atmosphere of the Orient, don’t you think? I hope to remain another week.”

“Splendid! We would be pleased to see you at the school one afternoon, wouldn’t we, Percival? About half-past four. Take you round and we’ll plead with the matron to give us tea. By the way, Percival, remind me that I reply to Inspector Walters’ complaint about thejists and gunners.”

Mr. Percival, large and florid, gave no indication that he heard this request. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were very much alive as he watched Bony’s reactions to Mr. Rose. Bony expressed his delight with the invitation to the school, and following the adieus, went on into the store, to stand behind a mound of dress lengths and watch the departure of the two masters in Johnno’s service car.

An odd pair, he thought. The headmaster serenely omnipotent; the senior house-master silent and watchful. Bony made his purchases and was the last customer to be let out of the store for the day.

The police station office was closed, too, and he returned to find Walters reading a newspaper in the kitchen. On his entry the inspector put down his paper and eyed Bony sternly. Bony proceeded to roll a cigarette.

“I think we’ll forget about the information from Brisbane,” he said.“For a little while, anyway. It would be just too bad to pull that fellow in for evading conditions of his probation, send him back to the east, and let slip through our fingers the man who did murder those women.”

“He strangled one woman,” Walters said, coldly. “He could have murdered the two here.”

“Quite so, but we have no evidence against him… yet. I remember the trial quite clearly. There was no evidence that Locke collected women’s nightgowns and destroyed their silken underwear. I have another reason for keeping Locke in cold storage.”

“How are you going to explain the delay in returning him to his State?”

“Explain!” Bony looked at Walters with pained eyes. “Explain to whom?”

“You damn well know who. The Department, of course.”

“The Department! Oh, don’t let that bother you. It will be my kettle of fish, as they used to say when my grandfather was alive. My dear man, if I bothered to make explanations to my superiors, why, I’d require the services of two stenographers to answer the ‘Please explains’. Hullo, Sawtell!”

Bony, noting the smallness of the sergeant’s eyes and the tightness of his wide mouth, knew that the blow had fallen. Sawtell strode to the two men seated at the table, and from a side pocket drew a scrap of pink silk, which he placed on the table. He began to speak as though giving evidence in court.

“I was passing along the laneway at the rear of Mrs. Overton’s house, and I thought I saw something brightly coloured lying near the back door. I could see that the back door was closed. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. In view of the plan set out this afternoon concerning five women, I did not proceed to the back door from the rear lane, but passed on round the block till I came to the front of the premises. Near the front gate, which was closed but not locked, there is a small letter-box. The morning delivery of mail was still in the box.

“I thought I had better investigate. I knocked at the front door and no one answered. It was locked. I then proceeded round the house to the back door, where on the ground I found this piece of torn silk. I knocked on the back door and received no answer. I tried the door and found it locked. Under the circumstances, I thought I’d better report before investigating further.”

Bony turned over the relic of silk. It was about ten inches in length, and two inches at the narrow end widening to three inches.

“I hope we’re all wrong,” he said, softly. “Let’s go.”

The Same Pattern

“What about Abie?” askedSawtell:

“Leave him until we know more,” Bony replied, his voice sharp and unusually authoritative.

They met Keith coming in from the street and, without halting, the inspector told him to tell his mother they would be late for dinner. Walking abreast, with the slighter figure of Bony in the centre, an observer would think he was being taken to jail, for the expression on the three faces was wooden and no man spoke. Other than a few children and two women, the street was empty.

Arriving at the front gate to Mrs. Overton’s house, Bony felt satisfaction on seeing that the driveway was composed of cinders. There he saw many footprints, including those made by Sergeant Sawtell. There were the prints of a woman’s shoes, those indented by a boy, the prints made by a man’s naked feet, and those left by shoes size eight. The insides of the heels were worn, and there was a circular object adhering to the left sole.

The bungalow was smaller than average. Along the front the storm shutters were raised. The front of the veranda itself was enclosed by narrow painted battens making a small diamond pattern. The house either side this property could only barely be seen beyond the ornamental trees and the division fences of board.