Fox. Bill Robertson
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fussing over a baby about three feet away. He tapped lightly on the glass. When Lucy looked towards the noise Colin raised a finger to his lips and pointed to the door. He bobbed down as the other girl began to turn.
It was twenty minutes before Lucy appeared to walk slowly into the garden. Her heart was pounding. She had not believed her eyes when that familiar face appeared at the window — Colin! Perhaps there was something in prayer after all. From the darkest corner of the garden she heard the muted call of a red-collared lorikeet, a bird from their swimming hole. After checking the garden, she slipped into the shadows.
‘G’day. How ya doin?’ Colin stood up from behind a fat old grevillea, a huge grin splitting his face.
Fearing discovery, Lucy flung herself at him silently and hugged him.
‘Colin, ya back,’ she whispered, ‘I’m happy you’re ’ere. Will ya get into trouble?’
‘Slow down. You right?’
His question wormed into her pain. She leaned against him and breathed softly.
‘Wia. That Mullett, he’s too cheeky, he hurts me and Fisher, she belts us.’ Tears seeped down her face. Colin grew cold, felt the hairs on his neck and head rise as he struggled to breathe. He took her hand, understanding immediately about Mullett.
‘We’re goin’ home to Mum,’ he murmured. ‘I run away from Moore River. Bad place. I ain’t goin’ back. Can ya leave tonight?’ As he spoke he gripped her hand, working hard to conceal his anger. He didn’t doubt her for one minute. He was equally angry with the Fisher bitch. Call ’emselves bloody church people. They don’t know shit from clay! Liars more like, flat out liars. He was thinking hard and asked again, ‘Tonight?’
‘Colin, I’m scared. They’ll miss me straight away and get the cops.’
Lucy had scarcely finished speaking when the back door banged open and Matron Fisher appeared. Lucy flinched involuntarily.
‘Fox! Lucy Fox! I know you’re out there. Come inside this minute.’ Colin could hear the anger in her shrill voice.
Lucy’s fear was tangible and Colin felt her shaking. ‘Nyigiwa. Church at three,’ she whispered and melted into the darkness.
‘Yuwii,’ he murmured.
As she moved across the garden, Colin found himself wondering. Had he been moved to Moore River because of Mullett’s attacks on Lucy? How often had he done it? Dimly he recalled Miss Brigette swearing at Mullett when he’d pounced on Lucy years ago at Turkey Creek. Could she possibly help? While he didn’t know the answers to these questions he did know that his intention to get home was unbreakable.
As he moved towards the garden shed where he would camp for the night, he could hear Fisher harshly abusing Lucy for being outdoors.
On Saturday afternoon at three, Colin crept to the back door of the church and found it unlocked. Entering the gloomy light he was aware of a snuffling, grunting sound ahead and to his right. Creeping slowly forward, he drew level with the nave of the church and stopped, stricken. On the floor Mullett was astride Lucy groaning, his withered arse writhing, trousers to his knees, hands around her throat. Lucy, on her back, dress up, legs askew, was not moving.
Overpowering rage engulfed Colin. A polished candle stick lay some distance from Lucy’s feet. He grabbed it and, with a piercing scream, bounded towards Mullett who looked around only to feel the full force of the heavy brass stick across his face. There was a satisfying, bone crunching squelch as Mullett’s nose and teeth disintegrated. Without pause and with all his strength, Colin hammered Mullett twice more before dropping the candlestick. He dragged Mullett off Lucy and knelt by his little sister. He knew immediately she was dead and, as he took in the blood around her legs, the frailty of her young frame, he was consumed by grief and howled with pain and despair.
And that was how the Reverend Ian McManus found them. Colin curled into a tight ball, uncontrollably weeping. Mullett, in a bloody pool on his side, head caved in. Lucy on her back, her young body exposed.
At the police station, Colin sat numbly with a young policewoman in the interview room. Having been briefed on the murder scene, her heart had opened to the boy. He was still softly whimpering. A ten-year-old child, inconsolable in his grief, shattered and unable to talk sensibly. It was five o’clock and Colin had gone with police to tell them his story. The door opened to admit Detective Dean Wildman. He gave the policewoman a sour look and crossed to the boy.
‘Shut up you snivelling little prick. D’you hear me? Shut up!’ Blade sharp, icy with disdain, his tone penetrated Fox’s anguish. ‘We’ve been doing some checking. Seems your sister was not little Miss Innocent after all. Matron Fisher tells us she had a “thing” for Mullett. She’d let him play with her before. Egged him on in fact. Matron had to wash her mouth out trying to stop her nasty habits. This may not be as simple as you’d like us to believe. Your sister gave herself to Mullett.’
‘Are you sure that’s right Sarge?’ asked the policewoman.
‘Who asked you to speak? Keep your mouth shut or get out.’
The policewoman turned scarlet. ‘I’m not leaving you alone with this boy and you don’t have the authority to order me out. And if you do, I’m going straight to the Inspector.’
‘Coon lover are ya?’ Wildman switched his attention to Fox and ignored the woman. ‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself?’
‘She was good. Today she was seven. Matron Fisher’s a lyin’ bitch and if ya believe her, ya sick.’
‘So why’d you belt Mullett?’
‘’E was hurtin’ my sister. I saw ’im.’ The policewoman looked at the floor and coloured again.
‘She was giving it to him, like all gins,’ Wildman sniped.
Though still dazed, Colin felt some sort of strength begin to quietly settle over him. He was young and out of his depth, not yet initiated into his Gija law but he knew he possessed a power far greater than this ignorant kartiya. He knew the truth.
‘When ya talk to other girls,’ he said tonelessly, ‘Mullett was cheeky with lots of ’em. ’E killed my sister. Fisher’s lyin’. You’re the cop, find out.’
Wildman leaned across the table and slapped Fox’s head heavily.
‘You’re a smart arse, kid. You know that? You can spend the night in the cells here and we’ll see what happens tomorrow.’ He rose and left the room.
Caroline Connors, the policewoman said, ‘Are you alright? He had no right to hit you.’
‘You ’ave to be jokin’. Fox laughed at her. ‘You ’eard ’im, I’m black. We don’t have no rights. If you wanna help, speak to Miss Brigitte … the Anglican Mission. You’ll see then.’
By Monday afternoon it was clear that Wildman could not shift the blame from Mullett to Colin for Lucy’s death. Too many things didn’t fit. Mullett’s semen was inside Lucy and bruises on her neck matched his hands and finger spacing. Apart from Fisher’s disparaging comments about Lucy’s alleged behaviour, Wildman had no factual or corroborative evidence of her promiscuity. And if other girls had been victims, they were too intimidated to speak out. Brigitte Murphy would say nothing in support of Colin or anything derogatory about Mullett. And while he wouldn’t openly admit it, Wildman knew Murphy’s position was important and she wanted to keep a lid on things. He would help her do so. Colin had never denied hitting Mullett and was vehement about protecting Lucy. Many within the force were sympathetic towards the boy. Given Lucy’s age and the nature of her injuries prior to death, consent was irrelevant. Wildman had run into a brick wall and could not lay a charge.
On the following Friday, Colin Fox was transferred into the Catholic system and conveyed to Mount Barker, a mission with the harshest of reputations.
CHAPTER 4