A Murder Unmentioned (31 page)

“I shall just have to dazzle him with my razor sharp logic,” Milton replied unperturbed.

“There’s also Hayden,” Clyde reminded them. “The police obviously assume whoever killed Henry Sinclair killed Charlie Hayden too.”

“The police assume it’s Rowly,” Edna corrected.

“Perhaps the two murders aren’t connected,” Rowland said, tapping the window absently. He showed his cards and took the hand.

“I don’t know, Rowly, they were both at
Oaklea
. It seems too coincidental to be unrelated.”

“I suppose, but there were some thirteen years between the killings.”

“We need to ascertain who, other than Rowly and Wilfred, was connected to both men.” Milton abandoned the card game.

“That’s everybody who worked at
Oaklea
, I suppose,” Edna mused.

“Hayden was my father’s manager,” Rowland offered. “There are probably a few people that dealt with both of them in relation to the property.”

“That shearer your father sacked… for teaching you to shear,” Clyde raised the man tentatively. “He’d hate them both. Do you know what happened to him, Rowly?”

Rowland said nothing for a while. “John Barrett’s a good bloke, Clyde.”

Milton stiffened. “We talked about this, Rowly,” he warned. “We can’t just look at the people you don’t like.”

Rowland sighed. “He works on Wainwright’s, the neighbouring property. Has done since Father sacked him.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“He called by the day of Father’s funeral. I saw him speaking to Harry.” Rowland’s eyes darkened. “I expect he was just expressing condolences or something of the like.”

“Harry never told you?”

“I left for England soon after the funeral and, to be honest, Milt, I haven’t really thought about it since.”

“And other than that, have you spoken to Barrett?” Milton persisted.

Rowland shook his head. “We’ve exchanged the usual pleasantries in passing but nothing more than that. We don’t really move in the same circles.”

Milton conceded. “Fair enough.”

Edna leaned into Rowland. She could sense his unease. “We won’t say anything about anyone to the police unless we are absolutely sure, Rowly.”

Rowland’s smile was fleeting and tense. “I know. I’m sorry.” He loosened his tie. “I just detest the idea of suspecting everybody who was ever kind to me.”

“Of course you do,” Edna said gently. “That’s why we’re here.”

They changed the subject then—for Rowland’s sake—because they knew that there was a great deal he felt but did not say, and because some things were buried for good reason. The conversation turned instead to art and life and the less consequential.

Dr. Selwyn Higgins, Edna’s beloved, decidedly eccentric father, had been in Turkey since October, and had sent them each a fez for Christmas. Milton was wearing his despite the protests of his companions.

“Selwyn has excellent taste,” he said, admiring his reflection in the window.

“You look like a flaming organ-grinder’s monkey,” Clyde muttered. “Just remember to take it off before we get to Yass Junction! You can’t expect us to be seen with you wearing that!”

Rowland laughed and nudged Clyde. “Perhaps you should wear yours next time you step out with Miss Martinelli.”

Clyde groaned. “If I thought it would work, mate, if I thought it would work…” He sighed. “Rosie wants to meet my mother and she’s decided I have to speak to her father before Easter.”

“Oh, Clyde.” Edna rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. “That soon?”

“Your mother could well scare her off,” Milton suggested optimistically.

“I don’t want to do that. Well, not entirely. Rosie is a great girl. I just don’t want to get married, not yet.” Clyde discarded his cards miserably. “Anyway, it’s far more likely that she and my mother will join forces, and then I’m doomed.”

Rowland winced. “I thought your mother was still hoping you’d join the church. Doesn’t she owe a son to God?”

“My brother, Tom, is talking about the seminary,” Clyde replied resentfully. Clyde’s Catholicism was of the unobtrusive sort, more traditional than theological. But it seemed he’d come to rely on the expectation that he would eventually enter the priesthood as his protection against the expectation that he would marry.

Milton placed a comforting hand on Clyde’s shoulder. “Chin up, mate. If we can save Rowly from the gallows, we should be able to save you too. You’ll just have to wait your turn.”

Clearing of the scorched site of the fire was already well underway. Wilfred had retained an architect and a builder, both briefed to restore
Oaklea
as soon as possible. Edna Walling and her crew had also returned and their work in the gardens was proceeding with a renewed vigour.

As Arthur Sinclair had now spoken with Colonel Bennett and obtained his blessing, Lucy remained in Sydney to celebrate the good news with her family. She did, however, promise Kate and her fiancé that she would visit
Oaklea
again as soon as she was able.

Detectives Gilbey and Angel called by the day the family arrived back, to check that Rowland was indeed complying with the condition of his bail which stipulated that he live with Wilfred Sinclair. Rowland’s passport had been surrendered to the court, but it was understood that men of Wilfred Sinclair’s means and influence could obtain whatever paperwork they needed, and afford to lose the financial surety put up for bail.

Kent, Beswick and Associates also called to discuss strategy and update their clients.

In a dramatic demonstration of confidence in his brother’s innocence, Wilfred Sinclair offered a ten-thousand-guinea reward for anyone who provided the police with information leading to the apprehension and conviction of Henry Sinclair’s murderer. The move had perplexed Rowland at first until Delaney telephoned to report that the Criminal Investigation Bureau was being inundated with calls, letters, telegrams and witnesses all claiming to know who killed Henry Sinclair.

“We had a bloke in here yesterday, dobbing in his mother for doing away with your old man,” the friendly detective said, laughing. “Gilbey and Angel will be working around the clock for months to follow up this lot!”

Alice Kendall welcomed Rowland back with joy and tears and apology. He was forced to eat close upon an entire batch of her shortbread before she would believe that it was not anything she had said which led to his arrest.

“You know I didn’t shoot Father, don’t you, Mrs. Kendall?” he asked when he’d finally calmed her.

The old housekeeper clasped her hands to her heart. “It’s so good to hear you say that,” she gasped. “I always knew it in my soul, but sometimes I wondered.” She broke down again. “He could be such a cruel man. I wish I could have done more for you…”

Rowland took her hand. “I know Mrs. Kendall—I knew then too.”

“I wanted to say something, but if he’d sacked me you would have had no one at all. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you with that man.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t give him an excuse to take you away too.”

He waited until she’d blown her nose. “Do you remember anything at all about that night? Could anyone else have been in the house?”

“Oh Mr. Rowland,” she said, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her apron, “you know the kitchen door is always left open. It was then too. We kept a bigger staff in those days… people always coming and going. And then there were the gentlemen who came to see Mr. Sinclair.”

“Wil?”

“No, no… your father.”

“Who?”

“The accountants, the solicitors…” The housekeeper’s whole face furrowed as she tried to remember. “As for the rest, I’m sure I don’t know.”

Rowland asked one more thing. “The guns, Mrs. Kendall. They used to be kept in the cupboard next to your pantry. Do you know if they were all accounted for after he died?”

Mrs. Kendall smiled. “Your father was not as particular or careful as your brother about the guns. There were several missing the night he died. Mr. Sinclair was always taking them out for some reason or another, and then forgetting to put them back. The maids would regularly find loaded pistols about the place.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “It’s only since he died that there’s even been a lock on the cupboard.”

“So anyone may have taken one?”

“Anyone who knew where they were kept, or I suppose anyone who found one Mr. Sinclair had left about.”

“And the gun Miss Walling found in the dam—do you remember when you last saw it in the cupboard?”

“I’m so sorry… I’m so useless,” the old woman fretted now. “Until Mr. Sinclair was shot, we didn’t really pay any mind to what was or was not in the gun cupboard.”

Rowland dusted the shortbread crumbs from his tie. “That’s probably as it should be, Mrs. Kendall.”

Edna joined Milton and Clyde at the Mercedes. Clyde was bent under the bonnet checking oil or some such thing. He and Milton were deep in conversation. Edna caught the end of it.

“Why else would he tell Rowly he was sorry?”

“Wilfred wasn’t talking about shooting Henry Sinclair,” Edna said. “You know that.”

“We weren’t talking about Wilfred,” Clyde said. “We were talking about Harry Simpson.”

“Harry?”

“He told Rowly he was sorry just before the police took us away,” Milton said, frowning. “It got me thinking.”

“That’s ridiculous, why would Harry kill Henry Sinclair?”

“Maybe he wanted Wilfred in charge.”

“Why?”

“Wilfred made Harry manager,” Milton reminded her.

“Don’t be idiotic, Milt. Harry doesn’t care about that sort of thing,” Edna replied, cross.

“It was thirteen years ago, Ed. Perhaps Harry was different back then,” Clyde ventured, though clearly the idea did not sit well. He liked the stockman, but still. “You know when Rowly first told him that his father’s gun had been found, Harry asked how, not where or when—
how
.”

“And Harry was damned upset when Rowly was arrested,” Milton added.

“Naturally.” Edna stared hard at the two men before her, wondering just how obtuse they were. “You do realise that Harry’s not just any stockman, don’t you?”

Clyde shifted uncomfortably. “Rowly’s never… and Harry hasn’t either…”

“Of course, he didn’t… they wouldn’t. It’s probably impolite.” Edna sighed. “But look at the way they are with each other. How could they not be?”

“They grew up together, Ed.”

“Rowly’s mother nearly fainted when she saw Harry.”

“He’s Aboriginal, Ed. Just because Rowly takes a man as he finds him, doesn’t mean his mother does.”

Milton interrupted. “It doesn’t matter whether Harry’s an ordinary stockman or Rowly’s… or not. In fact, if he isn’t, it’s probably more likely that he killed old Mr. Sinclair and Hayden.”

“I can’t believe you’re suggesting this!” Edna said furiously.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Ed,” the poet said firmly. “But we have to consider every possibility and Harry is definitely a possibility.”

25

“DEAR OLD FRUIT”

MODERN MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

Mr. A.E. Bell, a London solicitor, in a paper on “Is the Law an Ass?” at the Law Society’s conference at Eastbourne recently, declared that in these days marriage settlements were mere pamphlets.