Scrublands(104)

‘That’s pretty amazing,’ says Martin, feeding the kid’s ego.

‘Pretty cool, hey?’

‘Yeah,’ says Martin. ‘Pretty cool. But listen, you told Sergeant Walker that Swift molested you—is it true he told your dad and your dad believed it?’

‘Yeah. Dumb and dumber.’

‘You saw him, didn’t you, the morning he died, before he went to St James?’

‘My dad? Yeah, I did.’

‘What happened?’

‘He was in a fucking flap, I tell you, him and his mates, but especially him. Spitting chips. Funniest thing you ever saw. He was ranting on about killing the priest. Allen and me were cacking ourselves.’

‘But he didn’t really intend to kill him, did he? They didn’t take guns to the church.’

‘No. Mum turned up. I think she’d been to see him, to see Swift. Said he was leaving town, that Dad didn’t have to do anything. He calmed down a bit after that. He pulled me aside, demanded I tell him the truth, whether Swift had abused us or not.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I told him it was bullshit. That Allen and I were just getting back at him.’

‘For what?’

Landers doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to want to.

‘For what, Jamie?’

‘For being a superior cunt, for thinking he was better than us.’ The assertion has the ring of truth to it, at least part of the truth. Martin lets it go.

‘Okay. So what happened then? With your dad?’

‘Well, he calmed down. I thought they were going to go hunting and that was the end of it. Allen was going with them, to make sure they didn’t go anywhere near where we’d finished the Krauts or near the dam at Springfields. But then, I don’t know, Dad got kind of happy, started laughing. He said something to Mum, I don’t know what, but he was laughing and she was crying. The prick. And then Dad and his mates went to the church anyway.’

Martin considers this. Why did Landers go to the church? His wife Fran had told him Swift was leaving, his son Jamie had told him Swift had not abused him after all. So why go? Martin looks at Landers; he can’t think of any reason the boy wouldn’t be telling the truth. ‘You’re worried about your mum, hey?’

That brings Landers back to earth. He deflates, eyes cast downwards. ‘Yeah. She doesn’t deserve this.’

‘What about your father, Jamie? Swift killed him.’

‘Best thing he ever did.’

‘Kill your father?’

‘Too right.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t need to know.’ Landers gets to his feet, starts pacing, suddenly menacing. Sitting on the floor, Martin feels vulnerable, Landers stalking the cell above him. He starts to get up, finds it difficult. One of his legs has fallen asleep, pins and needles running down his thigh and into his calf; his stance is unsteady. He recalls what Jamie said about the Germans: I liked being the one doing the hitting for once.

‘Was he violent, Jamie? Did he hit you? Did he hit your mum?’

Landers’ eyes turn volcanic. His fist comes from nowhere, Martin swaying his head at the last moment, turning it into a glancing blow. But it’s enough for his knees to buckle. ‘Robbie!’ he calls as he falls. ‘Help! Robbie!’ Landers is standing over him, seething, fists clenched, but not moving, not lashing out. The cell door opens and Martin is pulled up and out.

‘You all right?’ asks Robbie, leading him back into the main station, into the kitchen.

‘Yeah, I think so. He blindsided me.’ Martin touches his left cheek where Landers connected. It’s tender to the touch and beginning to swell.

‘Let me take a look at it,’ says Robbie, sitting Martin down. ‘It’s not cut, but you’ll have a decent bruise. I’ll get you some ice. You want to press charges?’

Martin shakes his head. ‘What’s the point? Rape and murder. He’ll be inside for years.’

Robbie gets some ice cubes from the freezer, wraps them in a tea towel.

‘You heard?’ asks Martin.

‘I was listening,’ says Robbie.

‘He lost it, hit me when I suggested his father had been abusive. Is that true?’

Robbie nods, eyes more sad than angry. ‘Ask any country cop. Domestic violence is half of what we do. It’s endemic.’

‘So he was violent? Craig?’

‘Sure. Drought like this, times like this, heat like this. The pressure builds up; throw in a bit of grog and tempers become hair-trigger. I’m not excusing it, but that’s life for a lot of women. In the bush and in the city. Craig Landers beat his wife from time to time when he was in his cups. So do a lot of men.’

‘Did you intervene?’

‘I locked him up a couple of times. Talked to him. But after that, you really need to be guided by the women. No good going further if they don’t want you to; it might achieve nothing more than inciting another beating.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Welcome to my world.’

‘And Jamie? Did Craig beat him as well?’

‘Couldn’t say. Jamie never said anything; Fran never said anything. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.’

‘Well, something fucked him up, that’s for sure. Did you hear what he said in there? About the backpackers?’