‘How regularly?’

‘Jesus, Acorn.’

‘You want me to make a judgment? How regularly?’

Cardilini pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and counted, ‘Seven from twelve his first year, nine from ten his second year, plus winning the state school boy titles.’

‘A farmer’s son, familiar with shooting a .303, no doubt.’

‘No. Lives in the city.’

‘A natural, perhaps. But I don’t think it was a marksman that made that shot, I think it was a stray shot. Target shooting is usually at the chest. That’s how cadets train. Never a head shot. In your scenario the shot would be intended for the chest, and .303 is a kill-shot in the chest, so the shooter missed his target. Either way Edmund’s death was the result of a miss-shot, which supports strongly a miss-shot from across the river.’

Cardilini didn’t need to hear that, but he should have known. He was missing too much. What else was he missing? And why was he pursuing this line on the shooting? What hard evidence did he have? Scuff marks on a tree, a tree in a school playground full of boys, boys happy to sneak around at night wouldn’t be too afraid to climb a tree. And yet, he was trusting McBride or wanting to trust him.

‘It would be the height of arrogance to attempt a head shot from that distance. And you said the boy left school two years ago. It would take training to achieve that shot, or lucky arrogance.’

‘I have a candidate for the arrogance,’ Cardilini said, thinking of Carmody.

‘Can he shoot?’

‘Fair to middling.’

‘Was it his rifle?’

‘No, but could he practise with it? Knowing the results it produced for Williamson?’

‘I’m sure that’s the sort of thing school cadets could do. Captain Edmund might have even encouraged it among his better marksmen.’

‘Would it make a difference to their accuracy?’

‘Possible.’

Cardilini looked at his notes.

‘I think your assassin scenario is shot full of holes,’ Acorn said smugly.

‘It would seem so.’

‘The defence could come up with any number of army instructors that would see it my way. Wouldn’t look good in court.’

Cardilini nodded, sighed, thanked Acorn and left.

*

Back at his desk a spade lay across his chair. He stood looking at it for some time, gradually the heads of his colleagues turned to watch him.

‘Actually, that’s pretty funny.’

A general round of applause and laughter greeted this. ‘So, how are you brushing up, Cardilini?’

‘Getting there,’ he said with a sheepish smile and shifted the spade to the side of his desk before sitting.

‘You can keep the spade. It was bought out of your share of the Christmas fund.’

‘Great,’ he said and patted the spade, ‘I might just leave it here.’

‘Cardilini,’ Bishop called from the open doorway, ‘you’re wanted upstairs. Superintendent Robinson.’

Cardilini knocked on Robinson’s door.

‘Yeah. In you come. Sit down. You aren’t making this very easy, Cardilini.’

‘No, sir.’