Tag: police

1966. Sydney.

Janet had never spoken to a police officer before. There’d never been any need. And now, with these two in front of her, their foreheads sweat sticky under the tight grip of their black hats, she wasn’t sure whether she should.

The tall one had taken her father to one side and was speaking to him. Her father was nodding his head, then shaking it, then nodding again. The policeman’s expression hovered somewhere between pity and irritation. Janet suspected he didn’t like dealing with death. Especially when there was no body. Especially when the no body might be in another country. At the bottom of the ocean.

Her father’s shoulders started to shake. His back convulsed. Long, deep lowing sounds came out of him. The sounds the cattle made by Pop George’s house when the farmer took the calves away. Janet couldn’t bear the sounds of the anguished cows. She’d bury her head under her pillow night after night begging Pop George to get the calves back to their mothers. And now she couldn’t bear her father’s sounds either.

The tall policeman touched her father’s elbow. Took a pace back. Turned to stare at the ship’s white hull until her father’s sounds shrank and tapered into the shimmer of the clammy heat. Stood in silence while her father scrabbled around for his dignity. Maybe she’d got that wrong about the policeman. Maybe he didn’t mind dealing with death at all.

Janet had read two P.D. James novels on the ship. She’d rather liked Inspector Dalgliesh. He was clever. Wrote poetry. Was unobtrusively handsome. This policeman wasn’t handsome. He didn’t look like a poet. His fingers were too stubby. His feet were too wide. And his nose reminded Janet of the platypus in the Welcome to Australia leaflet.

Perhaps his irritation signalled his suspicion. That something wasn’t right. That there’d been no accident at all but a premeditated murder. Or perhaps it wasn’t irritation but excitement. The policeman was hungry for promotion. Eager for something different. Something to make him famous.

Already hot, Janet’s armpits wept damp unpleasant wafts from under her t-shirt. She held her arms tight against her body. Kept the smell in. The shame hidden. She needed to hear what the policeman would say next. She took a step towards the two men but her mother pulled her back, frowned, and shook her head.

The shorter policeman, off to her right, and talking to Edward, seemed to have a problem with his face. Every minute or so he’d wipe his brow with a blue-checked cotton handkerchief. Edward’s ears were pink and his fists, clenched tight in front of him, were trembling. The short policeman looked over Edward’s shoulder to Janet and winked. Or did he? Janet couldn’t be sure. And then the policeman smiled. Rubbed his face again with the handkerchief. Janet tried to smile back but her lips were stuck shut. The policeman put his hand on Edward’s shoulder, said something to the boy, then turned to speak to her and her mother.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, addressing her mother. ‘I’m Inspector Connolly. And that,’ he said, pointing to the taller man, ‘is Senior Sergeant Maxwell.’  Inspector. Just like Adam Dalgliesh in the books. ‘He’s just getting a few facts from Mr Waters about…’ He paused. ‘About your son.’ He wiped his face again.

Janet stared at his shoes. So black. So shiny. His feet must be terribly hot. The family were all in sandals. Even her father. Janet had never seen her father in sandals until this trip. The Inspector was speaking again. Saying something to her mother about immigration. About luggage. About how they, the policemen, would take them to their hotel to settle in. Then speak to them once they’d slept and showered.

‘You must be Janet,’ he said. He put his hand out as if to shake hers then drew it back again. Janet caught his eye and looked away. She was embarrassed for him. How short he was. How could a sergeant be taller than an inspector? That couldn’t be right? But he seemed nice. He had a smiley face.

The next day he’d tell her, out of ear-shot from the rest of the family, as they walked into the police station, that his mates called him Sniper. Short for Sniper’s Dream. He’d grin as he said it, and Janet’s skin would prickle and the prickle would feel nice and Janet would blink and look away and wonder whether she’d just found her first friend in this hot and clingy land.

To be continued.