‘Okay. When would you have time?’ Cardilini addressed Mrs Pass.

‘Why do you want them?’

‘Why? I want them. That should be sufficient,’ Cardilini insisted.

‘Perhaps for you.’

‘Those records could help me identify a murderer. And, actually, I don’t have time. So are we going to do something or are we going to sit on our bums playing pat-a-cake?’ Cardilini clenched his teeth and swore under his breath before saying, ‘That mightn’t have come out as I’d intended.’

‘Seemed clear to me,’ Mrs Pass said as she stood and led Dr Young and Cardilini back down the corridor.

Two hours later Cardilini sat in an empty office opposite the typing pool with three files in front of him. Three St Nicholas boys’ deaths. Boys around Paul’s age. Three families, three mothers, three fathers, three sets of brothers and sisters, three extended families of grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends affected.

A car crash, on a straight country road.

A farm boy who had used firearms since he was eleven ‘accidentally’ shot himself.

Six months ago a boy hung himself on a back verandah. His parents discovered him when they came home from a concert. The Masters’ boy.

Cardilini leant back in his chair and swore violently at the ceiling.

He calmed down and completed a neat summary of his findings.

St Georges Terrace

5.45 p.m. Friday, 30th October 1965

‘Sorry for what I said earlier,’ Cardilini said to Mrs Pass as he stood at her desk with the files. Only one other typist was at her desk. Cardilini checked his watch.

‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini, honestly, your attitude was refreshing.’

‘Yeah, well. I appreciate your help. I might need access to them again.’

‘Fine. Come straight to me.’

‘Dr Young?’

‘Still finding her feet. Not so easy to step into the public service at that level without upsetting a number of people.’

‘She upset you?’

‘No, she’s smarter than that.’

Cardilini nodded, smiling, ‘I might see you again.’

‘You might,’ Mrs Pass said turning her eyes to her typewriter, ‘By the way, these walls, they’re like paper, we all heard you swearing.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, as I said, refreshing. Not a lot of passion around here.’

Day 7

East Perth Police Department

9.45 a.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

Cardilini arrived at East Perth station with the intention of laying out to Robinson what he’d discovered and what he was now becoming convinced of. He went straight to Robinson’s office, ignoring the two officers loitering sheepishly outside.

‘Robinson,’ he started.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘I was following up another line and I’m certain I’m onto something.’

‘Yeah. You can forget that. Something’s come up.’

‘Wait until you hear what I’ve got.’

‘Shut up. There’s been a complaint made against you.’

‘Oh, shit.’ Cardilini recalled the cold look Dr Young had given him at the Coroner’s offices.

‘It was nothing,’ Cardilini reassured Robinson.