Читать книгу Bony and the White Savage - Arthur W. Upfield - Страница 6

The Timbertown Policeman

Senior Constable Samuel Sasoon was the toughest of the many nuts Timbertown had failed to crack. A superficial survey of Timbertown would lead one to presume that it could not crack a soft-shelled egg, all being nice and quiet and genteel during business hours.

Samuel Sasoon’s father had been a tree-faller and sleeper-cutter in the forests of the immense Karri country, inland from the coast, between the Leeuwin Light and Albany. He had the physique of a gorilla; the nimbleness of a dancing master. It was as nothing for him to scale a karri trunk for two hundred feet to lop off the great crown of branches, and cling like a limpet to the beheaded trunk when the crown gave it the ponderous kick at parting, causing the bare trunk to vibrate like a tuning fork. He would ask someone to drive a peeled stick into the ground, anywhere they chose, and then fell the vast trunk exactly upon it. Once he failed. The trunk missed the stick by a couple of yards; he broke down and wept and got himself drunk for a week.

The huge karri trees have killed many men, and continue to do so, but the elder Sasoon was killed by a piece of orange peel on the main street at Timbertown. Young Samuel was then fifteen and showing the promise of his sire’s body and feet. Also he was showing his mother’s fear of heights and his mother’s love of books of which she possessed two: the Bible and Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

There being an elder brother to carry on the Sasoon tradition, young Samuel pitted himself against human giants in preference to the lords of the forests. He was given his first chance when, among the attractions of a visiting carnival, there was the usual boxing booth, with the usual gorillas issuing invitations to step inside and try one’s science. Having no science to try out, young Sasoon stepped inside and flattened the lot one after another, and was at once promoted to head-man by the proprietor.

For two years he remained with the show, travelling all over the State, and then on impulse he joined the Western Australia Police Department. Meanwhile, the timber mills operating in the vicinity of Timbertown had increased, and the population of tough nuts had multiplied to such an extent that the force there had to be doubled. Eventually, instead of re-doubling, the Brass decided to send young Samuel Sasoon to help out.

Constable Sasoon had a way with him, and the reach to put it into effect. A brawl outside the hotel or the dance hall was ever a magnet drawing Constable Sasoon. He would advance upon the brawlers. Then on impact he would seize a man with one hand and another with the other and crash their heads together. Dropping them like wet sacks, he would seize another couple and repeat the process, and so on, until he was on the far side of the crowd. He would then pause to admire the stars or something before returning and, should there be any adventurous spirit lingering on the scene ... but after the trial run there never was.

He married Emma Jukes’s best friend, and despite the fact that he never charged a man with being d. and d., he was promoted to Senior Constable. The years tamed him, but not much, and experience broadened his mind as the boxing tent had broadened his shoulders.

There was nothing beyond the ordinary about Timbertown. There was Main Street fronted by stores and shops, the Post Office, the Court House, the Council Chamber, with the Hospital and the Police Station down a side street. The nearest mill was half a mile out of town, and hard against the terminus of the railway. Flowering gum-trees shadowed the streets, and the gardens around the houses were always bright.

He was working on a case to prosecute at court when he heard Matt Jukes in the outer office giving details about a car registration to the constable on duty, and, without leaving his chair, called to Matt to come in when he’d concluded his business. A minute or two later, Matt entered the inner office to be greeted with a cheerful grin and the invitation to take a pew.

“Got an item of news, Matt,” Sasoon said, reaching for tobacco and papers. “Came down this morning. How’s things?”

He was relaxed, in his shirt-sleeves. His sandy hair was now scant, but his grey eyes had lost nothing of their youth and joy of living. Matt Jukes was older, shorter, as tough, and his dark eyes had lost nothing of youth either.

“All right, Sam. Been a bit undecided what foot to stand on, though, since Karl came home from Albany,” replied Matt, now looking troubled. “Can’t make anything of it. Can’t make up my mind yet if Karl was having a nightmare or not.”

“Never knew he had nightmares, Matt. The horrors, yes.” Jukes sighed, hesitated, then burst forth.

“Don’t like thinking about bad times. Don’t want ’em brought back to mind. But there’s Karl camped a few miles east of the old Stoney Creek mill. The moon’s high and him in shadow, and he thinks he saw Marvin Rhudder walk past, coming back home.”

“Thinks!” stressed Sasoon, stubbing his cigarette. His eyes had lost their customary benignity.

“Still thinks he did and he didn’t. Me and Emma thinks he did because Karl says, as Marvin was passing him, he was humming ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. Ever since, I’ve been on Ocean Ridge watching the Rhudders’ place through glasses, and I’ve not seen Marvin about, and the others haven’t done anything out of routine.”

“How long’s this been going on?” Sasoon asked, and hearing someone enter the outer office, left his chair to close the inner door.

“Well, Karl got back yesterday week.”

“You been watching for a week?”

Matt nodded, and returned to the chore of filling his pipe. There was slight wonderment in Sasoon’s eyes when he asked:

“Why the hell didn’t you ring me up about it?”

“Well, what for? If it was Marvin, then he must be out of gaol, he must be off licence and able to come home. No crime in coming home, is there?”

Sasoon selected a document from a tray and again read it. For a period he pondered, before looking across the desk at Matt. He said, as though carefully choosing his words:

“What do you really think, Matt? Did Karl see the feller, or was sight of him due to the booze?”

“I put the odds in favour of his having seen Marvin.”

“You mean in reality?”

“Yes. I reminded Karl that Marvin had been away thirteen years, and that he’d be much older. It was the old habit of humming hymns that threw Karl off balance.”

“Karl describe him to you?”

“Yes. Marvin was wearing a good suit. It was black or dark-grey. He was carrying a suitcase and nothing else. And he wore a beret with a brooch or ornament at the front.”

“Ah.” Sasoon almost breathed. “What was that like?”

“Looked like silver. A cross inside a circle.”

“Feller must be mad,” Sasoon said, stressing the adjective, and before Matt could query who must be mad, Sasoon picked up the telephone, and called for Bunbury 10. Matt heard him say:

“Senior Constable Sasoon asking if Inspector Hudson’s available. All right. Please. Sasoon here, sir. Reference your memo 1761–143. I have grounds to believe that the person has entered this district. He was seen with the bookmaker’s lucky charm pinned to his beret. Yes. That’s correct, sir. Yes, he must have doubled back. Very well, sir, I’ll be here.”

Sasoon replaced the receiver and stared at Matt, and Matt stared back and waited, silently.

“Did you bring Emma to town?” asked the policeman, and Matt shook his head.

Sasoon again lifted the receiver and this time asked for Timbertown 189. Now Matt frowned because this was his own house number. Then he was hearing:

“ ’Day, Emma! Nice day, eh! Good to hear your voice. Too right, it’s your old friend. Now listen and no gossip. Of course, Else is O.K. Yes, I know that. Look, is Karl handy? Good! Bring him to the phone, will you?”

No sound other than the constable in the outer office using the typewriter, until Sasoon spoke again.

“Yeh, it’s me, Karl. Been having a few words with Matt here. Now listen and name no names. That night you camped the other side of the mill, remember? Where d’you reckon he’d turn off from your course? Oh, then he’d cross Rhudder’s Creek. How’s she running? Pretty low, eh? Muddy both sides? Well now, there could be a lot in what you dreamed that night, see? You stick around with Emma till Matt gets home. Yes, just stick around. Matt won’t be long.”

Sasoon replaced the instrument. Again he meditated, then he said with grit in his voice:

“Wait! Breckoff!”

The constable entered, a robust rather good-looking young man.

“Tom, run out to Lew’s camp, and see if he can hunt up a couple of trackers. Don’t bring ’em in. Have them standing by at short call. Lew’ll understand we have a job for them. Tell him we want the best.”

“All right, Senior.”

“And, Breckoff, the boss will be down here this afternoon. You know what he’s like about tunics, and dress in general.”

“I haven’t forgotten what he said last time, Senior,” and with a faint grin Breckoff departed. Sasoon waited until the door was shut.

“Well, that’s that,” he said to Matt Jukes. “Eight days that swine’s been home and you tell me now. All the police in South Australia, Victoria and New South Wales are looking for him, and he’s right under our noses. You didn’t go down to the house asking for him, did you?”

“No. I watched for him from the Ridge, as I said.”

“You didn’t see him through the glasses?”

“Not a glimpse. I told you we couldn’t be sure about him coming back. If I had been sure, I’d have gunned for him.”

“I can believe that, Matt.” Sasoon stood, towering over the seated grazier. “Matt, you’ve been tried pretty sorely, but what’s past has got to be kept past. Now you know me and I know you. I know that once you promise anything you’ll abide by it. You promise me you won’t go gunning for him.”

The policeman stared down into the wide dark eyes now aflame with hot rage and, because he himself could seldom retain anger for longer than a quarter-hour, he marvelled that Matt could continue to hate for thirteen years. Matt Jukes had in him the stuff of long and vicious feuds.

“Well,” Sasoon insisted. “You promise to keep the peace, or I’ll lock you up.”

Matt Jukes bounced to his feet and, because he was a foot shorter, glared upward at the policeman.

“You’d lock me up?” he yelled. “You?”

“Yair, me. And if I couldn’t do it all by myself I’d call on Emma and Else to help me. They’d help me quick and lively.” Sasoon sat again, and motioned Matt to do likewise. “Now look, Matt, this business is bigger than you got any idea of. The Law is goin’ to give you and me and Emma all the satisfaction we’ve ever wanted from Marvin Rhudder. Yes, the Law is going to do the gunning. You seen Luke Rhudder?”

“He came home five days ago. Didn’t call in, but I seen him from the Ridge.”

“Calling the Legions to Rome, Matt. Now what I’m going to tell you, you keep under the hat. Marvin has made a fatal mistake. He raped a woman and murdered a bookmaker. Now we know that in New South Wales, where’s he’s been operating for thirteen years, rape is thought to be the naughty ebullience of the teenager, and murder is considered the impulsive act of a sick man. But, Matt, Marvin committed his last criminal assault on a woman and his first murder in the State of South Australia, where murderers are hanged.”

“So what?” queried Matt Jukes.

“No matter where he’s picked up. Marvin gets extradited to South Australia.”

“If he’s picked up,” argued Matt. “If you think all you got to do is run down to the homestead and arrest Marvin with no more trouble than serving a summons, you’ll think nothing. He’s not lying on the couch in the lounge or sleeping in the best bedroom. He’s holed up in a cave, and you know there’s more holes and caves to every mile of coast than there’s stars in the sky. The only chance to pick him up, as you call it, is to pick him off with a rifle fitted with telescopic sights. A ruddy army of police couldn’t pick him up.”

“You talk sense, Matt,” admitted Sasoon. “It’s going to be a problem, but it is a police problem. Eight days he’s been home, that is if he stayed at home eight days. Might have stayed home only one night, and now where could he be? As you point out, we don’t raid the Rhudder homestead like a two-up school in a city.”

“You sent for the abos,” Matt said, adding, with regained calm: “That’s something.”

“Routine, Matt. By now every station in W.A. will be given the good oil about Marvin. Now you go home and stay close. No more going off to the Ridge and watching. You watch out for Emma.”

“Emma’s all right. She’s afraid of no man.”

“Man,” echoed Sasoon. “Marvin Rhudder isn’t a man. He’s a throw-back to a prehistoric monster.”