‘I’ve no idea. I said I know what Edmund did. We all did. It wasn’t a secret. It was considered appropriate in the traditions of the school. The rest is too disgusting. I believe the disgruntled boys all decided on the same or similar complaints to discredit Edmund. Like Mossop’s complaint about you.’

‘That’s a lie.’

‘Of course. As were the accusations made about Edmund.’

‘So all accusations against Edmund are untrue?’

‘Yes, it’s beyond belief. When on duty in the evenings I spent a lot of time with the man. I knew him.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I am right.’

‘Otherwise there could be more tragic consequences for young men and their families.’

Robson clapped as Carmody got a wicket. Cardilini looked at the scoreboard, a timber structure with numbers hanging from it, attended by schoolboys in St Nicholas uniform. The visitors were 4 for 92.

‘If, hypothetically, the boys’ accusations were considered plausible – I still can’t believe it – but say if the boys’ claims were plausible, what difference would it make now?’ Robson asked.

‘To the boys?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could save a boy’s life. Lockheed’s for a start. The mother is too frightened to let him out of her sight.’

They watched as the new batsman struggled through the first few balls of a new over.

‘The sketch you picked up from the bottom of the tree the first day I was here, did it show trousers around the boy’s ankles?’ Cardilini asked.

‘I didn’t look.’ Robson was staring at the field.

‘How many have you picked up since?’

‘It became an epidemic until Carmody spoke to the boarders.’

‘Were you there when he spoke?’ Cardilini asked.

‘No. It was part of Carmody’s conditions.’

‘Conditions?’

‘We foster leadership. The principal thought it appropriate.’

‘And you?’

‘Carmody doesn’t require anyone’s endorsement to influence the boys.’

‘You don’t like him?’ Cardilini asked.

When Robson didn’t answer Cardilini rephrased, ‘You don’t trust him?’

‘No, I trust him and respect him. “Like” is too subjective. I “liked” Edmund.’

‘What was the reaction at the school as these boys’ deaths started?’

Robson turned a serious face to Cardilini, ‘What do you think? You’ve a son. It’s gutting, like the solid earth under your feet has turned to slime. I taught those boys, they had everything to live for. And their deaths, apart from poor Masters’, were accidents. And I do not like or respect what you’re trying to do,’ Robson said, standing in an attempt to calm himself.

The boys began moving from the oval.

‘The boys are breaking for tea. Do you want a cup?’ Robson asked politely.

‘Sure. Thanks.’

They walked from the shade into the sunlight. Cardilini felt the give in the grass under his shoes and recalled lazy, innocent summer days he’d spent kicking a football, before becoming a policeman.