‘The live rounds are only issued at the rifle range,’ Acorn answered.

‘So a student could steal a live round from the rifle range if he wanted to?’

‘Highly doubtful. These are army cadets, Cardilini, not the usual riffraff you’re used to dealing with,’ Acorn said, closing the file firmly to emphasise the point.

‘What’s the C A P T A C, stand for?’

‘Captain. That’s his rank as Instructor of Cadets. It’s not a real service rank.’

‘In the Cooke case you matched markings on bullets for a number of rifles, right?’ Cardilini asked.

‘Yes, 60,000 .22 calibre rifles. It wasn’t me personally,’ Acorn replied.

‘No. Okay.’

‘Do you have a bullet?’ Acorn asked.

‘Not quite.’

‘Why aren’t I surprised? Anything else?’

‘Could I take that list?’

‘No!’ Acorn drew the file to himself protectively.

‘Can I get a copy?’

‘You have a sheet of paper and a pen. Copy it now.’

‘Could you get Mrs Allenby?’

‘No.’

‘Are the numbers sequential?’

‘No.’

Cardilini sighed and leant on Acorn’s desk to copy the numbers. When he finally finished he grunted, ‘Thank you,’ and started to walk away until Acorn called for his pen. Cardilini reluctantly placed it back on Acorn’s desk and left.

TEN

Day 2

East Perth Police Department

5.00 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

‘The super wants to see you,’ Bishop yelled as Cardilini passed his office.

‘Why?’

‘Go and ask him. Now.’

Cardilini turned and headed back to the stairs. The ‘brass’ were on the third level. The third level, to distinguish it from the lower levels, had red linoleum streaked with white. Suggesting royal blood was one theory, but Cardilini subscribed to another: the red linoleum was due to the amount of backstabbing that went on.

Cardilini had joined the police force a few years after Superintendent Robinson and they’d been good friends as constables together in a small country town. He knocked on Robinson’s door, and entered.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Robinson demanded.

‘Taking a dump.’

‘Bloody long dump.’ Cardilini sat. ‘Did you know Dr Braun called today?’

‘Yep?’

‘A murder? How the hell did it turn into a murder? There was shooting across the river. A stray bullet. What’s the matter with you?’

Cardilini asked, ‘What if the rifle was fired from the grounds? Maybe a 180-yard shot. A marksman,’ Cardilini said.

‘A marksman! That’s all we need. You got any proof of this? It’s over, Cardilini. I’ve just had my balls kicked for five minutes by the deputy commissioner. It was a shooting accident, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I might be a lazy bastard, but I’m not stupid, Robinson.’

‘Did Salt see it like that?’ Robinson asked pointedly.

Cardilini paused, perplexed. ‘No,’ he replied.

Robinson stood and strode to the door. Halfway across the room, he stopped, turned and said, ‘Sit on your fat arse, Cardilini. That’s what you’re good at.’ He walked out.

Cardilini was left staring out the window with a new furrow in his brow.

Eventually Robinson returned and sat comfortably before flicking Salt’s notebook towards Cardilini.