Arthur Upfield - The Widows of broome

“That’s very good of the Sisters, Keith. Without education no one goes very far in this world. Did Sister King say when she last saw Abie?”

“Yes, she did, Mr. Knapp. She said he was there yesterday just before dark. He wanted a pair of socks. He couldn’t have wanted ’emforhimself, because I know he never wears any socks. D’youknow what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” the boy ran on with assurance in his voice, “I think Abie wanted the socks to trade for some petrol. Anyway, he’ll turn up again, and he’ll be sick enough when he does. He did it a long time ago. Was away for a week, and Constable Pedersen trounced him in the stables.

“Thoroughly?”Bony asked, and Keith grinned and said that the “trouncing” had “fixed” Abie till that day he had been found behind the gum tree in the compound.

After dinner, Bony and Inspector Walters retired to the office, where the former opened his mail, comprising several official communications from Perth and one from Brisbane.

“The only finger-prints raised on those torn garments I sent down to Perth were those of Mrs. Overton,” Bony commented.

“I didn’t hope for much, did you?”

Bony regarded Walters pensively.

“No, I did not. However, two pieces of torn silk bore the imprints of a man’s teeth, both upper and lower teeth.”

“The fellow must be an animal,” Walters said. “Fits in with what Dickenson said about the man he saw champing his teeth. Where does it get us?”

“Of itself nowhere. I want only one, or perhaps two, pieces to complete my picture puzzle. I want time, Walters, to find those vitally necessary pieces. Once I complete my picture, then we can move to locate the three stolen nightgowns.”

“You think he’s kept them?”

“I’m sure he has. He would keep something to gloat over. I believe he stole them for the purpose of retaining proof that he had conquered a devil which threatened to destroy him.”

“It all seems pretty deep to me,” Walters stated. “He must kill for the lust of it.”

“No, he had his reasons for destroying these women,” Bony said. “I know why he killed Mrs. Cotton, and why he killed Mrs. Eltham. I am not sure why he killed Mrs. Overton, but if he makes an attempt to kill Mrs. Sayers, I shall be sure why he killed Mrs. Overton, and why he attempted to kill Mrs. Sayers. And when I know that, my picture will be complete and I shall see him.”

Walters regarded Bony intently.

“You really think he will make an attempt to strangle Mrs. Sayers?” he asked.

“I am hoping he will.”

“You said that Mrs. Sayers and Briggs have agreed to take every precaution,” stated Walters.

“Yes. You may be easy in your mind regarding Mrs. Sayers. I will look after her. But we must not relax our efforts in other directions. I see Sawtell, with Clifford and Bolton, coming in. I’ll lecture them on the necessity of being cautious. Does Bolton, the Derby man, know Broome?”

“He was stationed here for six years.”

“That’s good.”

Walters admitted the three men, and Bony gave his lecture on when to be cautious, which was now, and why. Clifford was to watch all through the night the house occupied by Mrs. Abercrombie and her companion, and Bolton was to watch over Mrs. Clayton and her daughter. Under no circumstances save the gravest were they to disclose to anyone police interest in these houses.

“To sum up,” Bony said in conclusion, “if you see anyone acting suspiciously, or even committing a minor crime, you are not to take action. By all means try to identify the person so acting but not at the risk of yourselves being discovered. Should you see anyone attempting to break into the house you are protecting, let him get well and truly inside before you arrest him.”

Walters said:

“I’ve left a couple of torches in the kitchen, and the wife will have a packet of sandwiches for you. You can go off duty at daybreak, and report back tomorrow evening.”

When they had left, Sawtell asked if anything was known of Abie, and Bony passed on the information given by Keith, adding:

“I’ll put old Dickenson on to hunting for Abie. You haven’t lost any petrol?”

“No. I checked up on it.”

“Ah well! Perhaps the cat found no humour in being blackmailed by the mouse.”

The evening was advanced when Bony set out to locate Mr. Dickenson. It was almost dark when he discovered him lying full-length on a public bench. The old man appeared to be drunk. Bony leaned over him and spoke. Then he nudged him. Bony sighed, and was charitable. Mr. Earle Dickenson was not a broken reed but rather one badly bent.

Relieving the “body” of the Webley pistol, Bony walked on.

Poor Little Mouse!

INSPECTOR WALTERS marched into Bony’s “office” and sat down in the visitor’s chair. Bony completed the sentence he was writing into his case-book, set down the pen and reached for tobacco and papers.

“A road-worker has found Abie,” Walters announced. “The body’s lying half inside a road drain. The black was at his old trick of inhaling petrol fumes, and this time he passed out.”

“I did think he might end up like that,” murmured Bony.

“Alight! Petrol’s surer than booze. I caught Abie at it twice, and Pedersen found him that bad that if he’d struck a match the feller would have exploded. Should be made a flogging matter for a native to be found drunk on booze or anything else. The old days and the old ways were good. I’d flog more and imprison less.”

“The aborigines would prefer that way.”

Walters snorted. “I’m sure they would. Like the birds they can’t bear loss of freedom, but a taste of jail doesn’t last as long as a flogging. It’s a damn nuisance. The other tracker’s gone on walk-about, and I don’t know yet when to expect Pedersen back with his boy. I’ll have to run out to the body with the doctor. Care to come?”

Bony nodded and they went out to the open garage in the compound. Walters took his own car, and Bony sat in the rear seat as the doctor would want to hear the details on the way. They had to drive to the hospital, where Dr. Mitchell was making his morning round, and they had to wait twenty minutes. The interval stressed Walters’ intolerance of procrastination, and Bony’s unruffled patience.

“Another body, eh?” exclaimed the medico, sliding in beside the inspector.“Good-morning, Bony! Altogether too many unauthorised corpses in Broome lately. This black feller was addicted to petrol inhalation, wasn’t he?”

The inspector said Abie was a confirmed addict and asked the doctor what kind ofa kick petrol gave as it might be cheaper than beer to a man sacked from the police force. The doctor replied that his knowledge of the subject was exceedingly slight, and that he didn’t intend to try it on himself to extend that knowledge.

Walters drove northward to take the right-hand road to the airport. The macadamised road was black, and here and there white-painted posts marked the culverts. A man was standing at one of the culverts a hundred yards beyond the entrance to the airport, and here Walters stopped his car. The road-man pointed down to the drain.

“He’s down there, Inspector,” he said. “I wouldn’t have seen him only I was working just here.”

The party stood at the edge of the culvert. The storm-water drain where it passed under the road was four feet deep and a yard wide, and all the upper part of the body could be seen, the legs being inside the culvert. Either side the road grew thick coastal bush and wire-grass, and the bed of the drain was dry and covered with grass too resilient to be broken down. As the road-worker had pointed out, the body would not be noticed by a road traveller, for Abie was dressed in his tracker’s uniform of khaki overcoat which merged into the colour of the drain.