Laughs, Corpses... and a Little Romance Read online

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  Next day was Saturday and some keen fishermen were out in their boats, fishing for bream, flathead and taylor. Pelicans and seagulls were hanging round the fish cleaning tables, hoping for discarded fish heads and guts. I’d put the drama of finding the corpse out of my mind. I thought our part in the affair was finished. The wind had gone round to the southeast and it was a bit chilly at first, with low black clouds running before the wind and the smell of rain in the air. We started off with a couple of ferry runs, the sound of waves smacking against the bows was mixed in with the chug chug of the engine. Next we had a tour down the river with a coach load of older women. They looked like recent widows to me; new jackets and slacks, and curly colour-rinsed hair, and being jolly on their own, with only a handful of older men with them. As we came back into the harbour I saw another white car parked on the wharf, so I clicked on the CB radio. “Nicky, is that a police car back again?” “Yes Ted. It's Greg Bennett.” I knew Constable Bennett from years back. I wondered what he wanted. I hoped it was nothing to do with finding that damned corpse. As we tied up Greg Bennett came on board. He was a middle-aged, middle-sized man, paunchy from too much fast food and too much beer. He walked with slightly bowed legs and a rolling gait, like a sailor home from the sea. His hair was going thin and it was brushed forward to cover his balding head, and he’d grown a droopy black moustache since I’d last seen him. He seemed to be very weary.

  We shook hands. His fingers were stained with nicotine. “Geez Greg, I wouldn't have recognized you.” I said. “No, last time I was out this way I was in uniform. I’m a Detective Constable now. Got myself a transfer to plain clothes at last. Much easier on the feet.” Plain clothes was right, his suit looked as if it had been slept in, many times. “Come on in”. I lead the way into the wheelhouse and he sagged down on the helmsman’s stool. “What can I do for you Greg?” I asked. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. I opened the starboard light to let fresh air through. “D.S. Tucker asked me to come and have another word with you.” “Ah. I suppose the postmortem report said the girl was already dead before she hit the water." "How the hell did you know she didn't jump?” I paused. “Well, she was floating.” “Floating? What about it?” “Well, if the girl had jumped off the bridge and drowned like Tucker thought, she would have gasped for air, and her lungs would have filled with water, and she’d have sunk to the bottom. However, if a person hits the water and they are already dead they don't sink they float. Their lungs are full of air, you see, and the buoyancy stops 'em from sinking.” Greg didn't seem too impressed. “Quite the bloody expert.” “Well,” I said, “In forty years on this river I've seen a few bodies both ways, floaters and sinkers. The girl was definitely a floater.” Well I’d actually seen two corpses before this last one, the rest I'd learnt from my dad.

  Greg took another long drag on his cigarette. I asked him “So what else did the postmortem report say?” He blew smoke out the door. “Well look, keep this to yourself, 'cos I'm not supposed to let it out, but she'd been gagged, beaten and raped, then strangled and finally thrown in the water.” “Jesus!” We were both silent for a moment. “What sort of a person would do a thing like that Greg?”. He shrugged. “Who knows? Some kooky guy. Guess the shrinks will have something to say about it. I'm no expert.”

  Greg flicked his cigarette butt over the side and lit another. He stirred on his stool. “So she was thrown off the freeway bridge already dead,” he said. “No, that’s not true either.” “Why?" "When we found her the tide had been coming in for seven hours. If she’d been thrown off the bridge she'd have drifted upstream, not downstream to here.” “Well you’re the expert on the river, where the hell was she thrown in then?" "That's a good question, let’s have a think” I pulled out the river chart. There was the penciled cross, marking the position where we’d pulled the body out. On second thoughts I called Jack and Tim, and they squeezed into the wheelhouse too. Three heads were better than one, and they knew the river almost as well as I did.

  “How long had she been in the water, Greg?” “Pathologist says six to eight hours." "There we are then lads, here's the puzzle. If the body finished here at this cross, where did it start from six to eight hours earlier? That would have been just about the time the tide turned.”The three of us concentrated on the chart, tracing back through the rips and eddies of an incoming spring tide in our minds. “I reckon somewhere between here and here.” I said, pointing to an area further down the estuary. “No, I think you're wrong dad.” said Tim pensively, “There's a rip round Oatley's Point at mid tide that would have carried her further across if she'd come from there. I think it's more likely she came from here, Whitebait Bay” He pointed to a small beach on the chart. “Mm, yes, I think you're right.” said Jack

  Greg looked at me. “So what's at this Whitebait Bay?” “Well not much” I said, thinking, “Just three houses at the back of the beach. Been there for ever.” “Do you know who lives there?” “I know all the people there to say “G'day” to, but I don't know too much else about them. They've all got their own boats, so I've no reason to go over there very often.” “Well I think perhaps I should go over there now. How do I get there from here?” “You can't drive, there's no access road into that beach. It's all National Park over there, and no roads. You'll have to go by boat.” Greg stubbed out his cigarette, looking a bit embarrassed. “Our launch is still out of service, perhaps you could take me over there?” As it happened we had an hour and a bit a spare with not much to do. “Is the Police Department paying?” “Probably, but only the DI can authorize expenditure." "Can I charge it to your credit card?” “Get knotted.” “Come on then, we’ll go in our runabout, I can't afford to run Annabelle over there in the faint hope the cops‘ll pay up afterwards. It doesn’t need all of us. Tim, you stay here and give Annabelle a bit of maintenance.”