Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [95]
There was little mention of the dead Koepanger, and even less about who killed him. All the talk was about Conrad and all of the men wanted to reinforce their expressions of sympathy with a drink.
It was late in the day when Tyndall staggered to the office quite drunk and fell asleep.
Sergeant O’Leary knew what he needed … a few shots of brandy. It had been a nasty twenty-four hours. Three killings, one a white man and that was bad. A lot of injuries, mainly to Asians and that really wasn’t a concern, some minor property damage, and a lot of scared whites. Thank God someone killed the bugger who did in Hennessy. Asian, according to the Japs. Probably a Malay. Not that it helped much even if they were right. Town was full of them. And they’ll all have an iron-clad alibi.
O’Leary was an Irish adventurer who had found his way to Australia via a stint with the police force in colonial India, serving the white raj. He had been a city policeman in Fremantle and Perth before taking a post with the mounted police in the north-west. He’d gone north largely out of curiosity and a love of adventure, but found the outback was addictive. He often talked about leaving, but never got around to doing it. Holidays in the south had always left him yearning to get back to the town he now called home. After ten years and a couple of promotions he was respected by whites as a tough but wise administrator of the law. He was feared more than respected by the Asians and Aborigines.
Paperwork was not his strong point. Sean O’Leary worked hard at applying the law in ways that reduced paperwork and court appearances. His boot and fists helped enormously to this end. And it was the paperwork associated with the recent events that bothered him. It could not be eliminated, but it could be limited.
Tyndall awoke to find Sergeant O’Leary at his desk, feet up and drinking whisky.
‘I was going to give you five more minutes, enough for another drink, then I was going to wake you from your beauty sleep. Fact is, John, I needed a few quiet moments to reflect on this and that. It’s been a hard day again.’
Tyndall dragged himself to a chair. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, reaching for the bottle.
‘Not at all, mate. It’s your whisky after all.’
‘Is it?’ said Tyndall vaguely. He poured a half glass and raised it to the policeman, who raised his glass in salute. They both drank.
‘On duty or off duty?’ asked Tyndall casually.
‘Off duty, despite the uniform.’
The two men were much alike, though O’Leary was old enough to be Tyndall’s father. They came from the same country, and it was this link to the Emerald Isle that had brought them together as occasional drinking partners at hotels, in the office after work, or sometimes in each other’s home. O’Leary used Tyndall to keep in touch with what was happening in the pearling scene. Tyndall knew that, but it didn’t bother him. He knew how to be discreet.
‘How did Mrs Hennessy take it?’ O’Leary enquired.
‘Poorly. As you’d expect. It will take some time for her to get over it.’
‘Aye, it will t’be sure. A terrible thing is the murder of a white man. But at least we’re spared the agony of the killer’s trial. He got what he deserved.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
They both raised their glasses, then O’Leary leaned forward and poured them both another drink.
‘Rather odd, don’t you think, that Koepanger having his throat cut at the scene. Suggests that someone was following him … or Hennessy.’
Tyndall stiffened slightly, and tried to cover his reaction by taking a long swig of his drink. But O’Leary had noticed the reaction. ‘Maybe. Hadn’t thought much about it.’
‘The Japs tell me that it was an Asian. Probably a Malay.’ The policeman sipped