Maralinga (32 page)

She'd rung him earlier that morning with the news. ‘Danny's been killed,' she'd said bluntly. ‘Will you tell Lionel I won't be in today? In fact, you'd better tell them all. I won't be in for some time.'

Reginald was most concerned to see her now. ‘Go home, Elizabeth, you need to rest.' She looked terrible, he thought, she obviously hadn't slept. ‘You shouldn't have come into work.'

‘I haven't,' she said. ‘I'm not here to work. I want you to do me a favour.'

‘Of course.' Behind the fatigue in her eyes, Reginald recognised the light of battle. The look was familiar to him – they'd worked together a great deal – but this time there was something manic in her intensity. ‘Anything you say. What are you after?' He circled his
desk and sat, swooping his reading glasses onto his nose and grabbing a pencil.

‘A man called Harry Lampton, a fettler by trade, is the chief suspect in a murder case in South Australia. He shot his wife's lover.'

Reginald started scribbling the details in his notebook.

‘The victim was a man by the name of Petraeus Mitchell, known as Pete, and he was serving in a government-appointed position as Aboriginal liaison officer at Maralinga.'

Reginald's eyes darted up from his notepad. Elizabeth's fiancé, Daniel, had been stationed at Maralinga. He peered at her over the rims of his reading glasses.

‘Yes,' she said, recognising the query, and Reg did indeed have a right to make one, she thought. ‘Danny and Pete Mitchell shared barracks accommodation. They were friends. I want to find out what happened.'

‘To Danny or to Pete Mitchell?' Reginald was just a little confused.

‘Both. But let's start with Harry Lampton. Can you make enquiries?'

‘Of course I can, and of course I shall. But you're being very enigmatic, Elizabeth. Do you want to tell me what this is about?'

‘I'm not altogether sure myself,' she said, which was the truth, but Reg was owed an explanation and she was quite prepared to give one. ‘I received a letter from Danny this morning …'

‘Oh, dear.' Reginald pushed the reading glasses back to their customary position, his face a picture of concern. ‘Oh, dear,' he said, ‘how very upsetting for you.'

‘Danny wasn't convinced that Harry Lampton was the guilty party,' Elizabeth continued briskly; sympathy was the last thing she needed. ‘He thought there might have been some form of conspiracy. Pete Mitchell had told him of highly confidential happenings at Maralinga, and Danny was suspicious when Pete was killed shortly afterwards. He wrote in his letter to me that he was going to make enquiries. Then, three days after he posted that letter, Danny himself was killed. Accidentally, and in a nuclear detonation I might add, which means his body can't be returned to England.'

A lengthy pause followed, during which Reginald looked at her as if she were mad. Finally, he found his voice.

‘Do you know what you're
saying,
Elizabeth?' Perhaps she was demented in her grief, he was thinking. ‘Do you know the
magnitude
of your implications? Do you have any
idea
?'

‘Yes, of course I do, Reg, don't treat me like an idiot. I'm saying the army may have murdered Danny.'

‘Oh my God, girl.' He glanced about his office, startled, as if the very walls themselves might betray what they'd heard. ‘That's sheer madness.'

‘Yes, it may well be,' she agreed, ‘but I won't give up until I find out.' She stood. ‘Of course, if you don't wish to help me I'll quite understand.'

‘Of course I want to help you.' Reginald rose to his feet. ‘But what do you expect of me?' He lowered his voice and once again glanced guiltily at the walls. ‘I can hardly ring my military contacts at Maralinga and ask them if they're killing off their own chaps, can I?' Then, realising what he'd said and to whom,
he hastily apologised. ‘I'm so sorry,' he stammered, ‘I didn't mean to offend …'

Elizabeth actually managed the faintest of smiles. Reg told the worst jokes in the world, but he was unwittingly funny at times, and always when he least intended to be. ‘Let's just start with Harry Lampton,' she said.

‘Harry Lampton it is.' He walked her to the door. ‘Now go home, Elizabeth. I'll ring you, I promise. Given the time difference, I probably won't have anything for you until tomorrow, so go home and get some sleep.'

‘Thanks, Reg. I appreciate your help.'

He opened the door for her, but she hesitated in leaving. ‘I didn't mean to put you on the spot just now. I shouldn't have said what I did; I should have kept my thoughts to myself.' Elizabeth realised she'd been most unfair. Indeed, what did she expect of him? His career could well be ruined if he alienated his valuable contacts. ‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘it was really thoughtless of me. I don't expect you to become embroiled in this business. I won't compromise you in any way, I promise.'

She kissed him on the cheek, and Reginald melted, as he always did. His had been a hopeless case of unrequited love from the outset, a situation which he totally accepted, knowing that Elizabeth saw him as a father figure.

‘But just between you and me,' she added, ‘I meant what I said. I don't intend to give up until I find out the truth.'

‘Yes, I know.' That was the worry, Reginald thought. ‘Now go home, you need sleep. Go home and go to bed, there's a good girl.'

Elizabeth went home, but she didn't go to bed. She read the letter again. She read it over and over, despite the fact that she already knew it by heart.

 

Reginald, as always, was true to his word. He rang her exactly twenty-four hours later. Once again, the innocuous salad lunch sat on his desk, but this time he was not distracted by the thought of roast pork and crackling. Far more disturbing matters were on his mind.

‘I have some news for you.'

‘Yes?' Elizabeth felt herself tense.

‘Harry Lampton was apprehended in Kalgoorlie four days ago. He's been flown to Adelaide where he'll stand trial for the murder of Pete Mitchell, and, according to my source, it's a cut-and-dried case. Lampton's wife has turned evidence against him – she witnessed the shooting – and I believe other witnesses amongst the fettlers have also come forward.'

So Pete Mitchell's death had been the coincidence Danny had hoped for, Elizabeth thought. She was relieved to hear it.

‘Thank you, Reg,' she said. ‘Danny would have liked to have known that. I'm very grateful to you.'

‘Yes, well, there you are then.' Reginald's voice was just a little over-hearty. ‘Nothing suspicious at all, the fettler did it, a crime of passion. Explains everything I'd say, wouldn't you?'

‘It explains Pete Mitchell's death, yes,' Elizabeth agreed. ‘It doesn't explain Danny's.'

‘Yes, it does, Elizabeth.' Reginald dropped the heartiness. Her reaction was just as he'd feared it might be. ‘It explains the fact that there was no
conspiracy afoot at Maralinga. Pete Mitchell was killed by a jealous husband, and Danny's death was an accident – a terrible, shocking accident certainly, but an accident nonetheless.'

‘I don't believe that, Reg.'

‘You must, my dear, it's the truth.'

‘But you haven't read the letter –'

‘I don't need to.' Reginald's voice was firm and authoritative. ‘I have had direct confirmation from an impeccable source high in the military chain of command at Maralinga. Daniel's death was accidental, I can promise you.'

‘No, it wasn't. No, I don't believe that at all. And you won't either when you read the letter. I'll bring it in and show you. Honestly, Reg –'

‘Don't pursue this.'

‘What?' Elizabeth was taken aback.

‘Don't follow this path. Leave the matter alone.'

‘You know something,' she said. ‘What is it? What have you found out?'

‘I have found out no more than the truth, Elizabeth. And the truth is, Daniel's death was an accident! You must stop torturing yourself and accept that! I insist that you do so!'

There was silence on the end of the line. Reginald regretted having had to speak with such force, particularly under the circumstances, but he was thankful that he appeared to have finally convinced her. ‘This is a very difficult time for you, my dear,' he said gently. ‘You have my deepest sympathy, you know that.'

‘Yes, I do. Thank you.'

‘Now you will try and rest, won't you?'

‘Yes. I'll try.'

‘Good. That's good. Ring me if you need anything, and I'll see you when you're ready to return to work.'

He hung up, took one look at his plate of salad and headed off to his club for lunch, deeply relieved that the episode was over. When he returned an hour and a half later, however, he found her waiting in his office.

‘I hope you don't mind,' she said, ‘but I couldn't wait outside in the newsroom. Too many people wanting to offer their condolences and I'm not up to that yet.' She took the letter from the top pocket of her blazer.

‘Elizabeth –'

‘Read that.' She unfolded it and placed it on his desk. ‘Read that and then tell me you still believe Danny's death was an accident.'

Reginald heaved a sigh and sat, taking his reading glasses from his top pocket where they'd lived throughout lunch. He hated this. He dreaded the prospect of having to tell her the truth.

After reading the letter with great care, he positioned his glasses on his head and leaned back, surveying her thoughtfully.

‘You see?' Elizabeth's challenge was triumphant. ‘It changes everything, doesn't it?'

He was silent. To his mind the letter changed nothing at all. If anything, it confirmed the truth. But how was he to tell her?

Sensing he was troubled, Elizabeth was quick to reassure him. ‘Oh, don't worry, Reg, I don't expect you to do anything with the letter. That part's up to me. I just wanted you to read it so that –'

‘What do you intend to do?'

‘I don't know really.' She hadn't thought that far ahead. ‘Take it to some top military authority here in London, I suppose. I was hoping you might tell me who I should –'

‘It wouldn't accomplish anything, Elizabeth.' There was no alternative, he realised. She had to be told.

‘You
did
find out something, didn't you?' She searched his face for a clue; there was something he wasn't telling her. ‘Come on, Reg. What is it the army's keeping a secret?'

‘You won't give up until you find out, will you?'

‘Nope. You know I won't.'

‘Indeed I do. In which case, you'd best hear it from me.' Reginald wished with all his heart that he didn't have to say the words. ‘Daniel took his own life, Elizabeth.'

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

‘I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to have to tell you. The army is keeping the truth quiet, for the family's sake, and naturally that means for your sake too.' The army was probably keeping the truth quiet in order to avoid any focus upon Maralinga, Reginald thought with a touch of cynicism, and also because such incidents were not good publicity for the armed forces in general. This would certainly not be the first suicide the military had covered up ‘for the sake of the family', but Elizabeth did not need to know that.

‘It's most regrettable you had to find out, my dear.'

‘Why on earth should the army think he'd killed himself?' Elizabeth was more amazed than upset.

‘Apparently he was very much affected by the death of his friend.' Reginald tentatively offered the answer to a question he wished he hadn't been asked. He'd heard from his military contact at Maralinga that Daniel Gardiner had been so distressed by Pete Mitchell's gruesome murder he'd become quite unbalanced. ‘According to the report, Gardiner was a deeply disturbed young man,' his contact had said. ‘Went to pieces after his best friend was murdered and half-eaten by dogs, very grisly affair. Anyway, he was determined to do a good job on himself. Poor chap drove out to the forward area in the dead of night and parked right where he knew both he and the vehicle would be incinerated. Shocking business all round. We're keeping mum about it, Reg – for the sake of the family, you understand – so not a word, there's a good chap.'

‘I was told that, following Pete Mitchell's murder, he became deeply disturbed,' Reginald said, praying that Elizabeth would not ask for more detail.

Far from seeking more detail, however, Elizabeth was outraged. She picked up the letter and waved it in his face. ‘But you've read this, for God's sake,' she said. ‘This isn't the letter of a man on the verge of suicide.'

Reginald begged to differ. ‘It is the letter of a troubled man, Elizabeth,' he said with care.

‘Troubled, yes, but hardly about to kill himself.'

Elizabeth riffled through the letter and, pointing out a line, she thrust the pages at him. ‘Look at that, just look at that: …
even as I write this, I am starting to feel self-consciously melodramatic …
That's what he says.' She was becoming agitated. ‘How sane is that,
I ask you? It's certainly not the comment of a man bordering on suicide.'

‘No. It's more the comment of a man covering his turmoil in order not to worry his fiancée.'

Reginald found the fact that Daniel had written such a letter at all highly suspect. To him, it displayed the classic signs of a troubled young soldier, lonely, far from home and with no-one to turn to. Having served as a foreign war correspondent in many regions of conflict, Reginald Dempster had often seen such young soldiers fall into a state of despair. The only difference on this occasion was the fact that there had been no actual battle.

Elizabeth came to a sudden halt. She'd been about to rant and rage. How could Reg possibly give credence to such a ridiculous notion, she'd thought. Now she realised that Reg gave far more than credence to the notion; he implicitly believed it to be the truth.