9. Home of the mug

The front page of the Addy carried this article which I clipped and keep pinned to my wall:

UNI STUDENT ARRESTED FOR BLOODY NORLANE MURDER

Melbourne, March 31. Melbourne University student and former Norlane resident, James Henderson was arrested yesterday by police who tracked him down to his hideout in a flat on Beaconsfield Parade, St. Kilda. He is charged with the bloody murder on February 10, 1957 of Millicent Flattery of 25 North Shore Road, Norlane, whose beaten and defiled body was found on blood soaked sheets in her house on Monday morning by her neighbour who rang the police. Flattery was a well-known customer of the Corio Shire Hotel and was long suspected, though never charged, by police of selling her services to willing customers. Henderson, who has a history of violent outbursts, according to police, had been under surveillance for some time as the prime suspect, but could not be arrested because they had no witness who could place him at the scene of the crime. Two days ago, a witness finally stepped forward and told police that she had seen Henderson enter and leave the Flattery residence, and that he was covered in blood when he left. Police would not reveal the name of the witness. If found guilty, say police, he will face the death penalty. Henderson is being held in the Geelong Police lockup awaiting a remand hearing that will be presided over by J.P. Grace McShearn, of Manifold Heights.

*

Flo was sitting at the kitchen table chain-smoking as usual, staring at the kettle, when Tank burst in waving the paper.

“Did ya see this piece of shit?” he yelled. “They’ve arrested Chooka for murdering that fuckn prostitute bitch!”

“Well, he did it, didn’t he?” answered Flo, still staring at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

“No, he didn’t! I fuckn know!”

“Why, because you did it?”

“Shit and fuck, Flo. Is that what you think of me, you fuckn old bag?”

“Well, you had a lot of practice beating me and Linda up, didn’t you?”

“I was just keeping you in line. You don’t know what a real beating’s like, I tell you.”

The kettle boiled and Flo stirred from her chair. She filled the teapot and sat back, waiting for it to draw. “Are you going do anything to help the little shit that raped our daughter, get off the hook then?”

“He never raped her, Flo. Get that into your stupid fuckn head, for Christ sake.”

“He fuckn did. He filled her up then killed her to get rid of it.”

“Shit, Flo. He didn’t kill her. She went and did it all on her own. It was Millie that did it, if you want to blame someone. She de¬served what she fuckn got, that’s what.”

“You was there, wasn’t ya?”

“There? There fuckn where?”

“At Millie’s. Must have been you. You’re there a lot of the time, I know.”

“Bullshit! It’s your fuckn imagination, you silly old bitch.”

Flo pours the tea, carefully holding the strainer over an old china cup, stained dark brown inside from years of use. “You want a cuppa tea?” she asks, not looking up.

“Fuck you!” says Tank and he strides out the door, waving the paper. At that moment, the brat runs in from the other room screaming, “I want me mother, where’s me fuckn mother?”

Flo reaches out and grabs the kid by her arm and shakes her hard, pulling her close to her chair. “Don’t you talk like that around me, you hear? I know the devil’s got your tongue, but if you don’t stop it, he’ll make you bite your tongue off. You hear?”

Flo takes a sip of her tea, then drags the brat by the arm into her bedroom where she retrieves her bible. “Sit on the bed,” she says, then starts reading:

“But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and mur¬derers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.”

The brat squeals, “Yaaah! Yaaah!” and jumps off the bed, slaps the bible out of Flo’s hand, rushes into the kitchen and knocks the cup of tea to the floor, where it shatters and tea splatters everywhere. Her mum, Little Linda, Flo’s step daughter, is nowhere to be found.

*

When Linda showed up at the Snake Pit without her little brat, people noticed. And when she stopped drinking the hard stuff and quietly sipped a few beers, sitting in a corner all by herself, people noticed that too. Mrs. Counter, whose job it was to keep things under control in the Snake Pit, sat down beside her, leaned lightly on the rickety tin table and said, “Linda, luv, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter except that me best friend’s been mur¬dered,” Linda cried, tears in her eyes.

“I knew you and Millie were tight. But you know they’ve charged Chooka with the murder?”

“Yair, I know. It wasn’t him, though, I’m sure. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m going to have to make up for it.”

“How do you mean, Linda?”

“Me little girl, brat that youse all call her, she fingered Chooka.”

“I heard as much.”

“But there’s something you don’t know.”

“What?”

“Well, I might as well tell you because everyone’ll find out soon.”

“Yair?”

“Millie’s left everything to me.”

“What?

“Her house and everything, she’s left to me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we was best friends, that’s why, and, well, you must know this, I was kind of her apprentice. I filled in for her when she was over booked, if you see what I mean.”

“And that’s where brat came from?”

“That’s none of your business, is it?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. But I thought Millie lived from hand to mouth.”

“She bought her Commission house. I bet you didn’t know that!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Youse didn’t know her like I did.”

“That I’m sure of.”

“She saved her pennies and I helped her when I could too.”

“Linda, I never thought…”

“Yair, I know. I’m moving in there soon.”

“But has the will, did she have a will that said you were going to get everything?”

“That’s what her lawyer told me.”

“She had a lawyer?”

“She had just about everyone you could imagine, wouldn’t you reckon?” Linda cracked a little smile.

“I suppose so.”

“Anyway, I gotta go. Checking out the house this morning.”

*

Linda walked down North Shore road, free of the brat, looking to enter Millie’s house, her house now, feeling like she was starting a new life. She would re-arrange some of the furniture, buy new beds for both bedrooms, get rid of all the bedding and start afresh. She hadn’t dared go there until now, was frightened of seeing the bloody sheets they wrote about in the Addy. She and Millie had had their ups and downs, more downs than ups. That was because Linda was sure that Millie was her mum, though Millie would never admit it. And if you looked at it that way, Linda was the one, the only one, that Millie had spared, saved from the carrot juice. But the bone of contention was deeper than that. Linda would never give up nagging Millie as to who her father was. She suspected that it was Tank, since he was her best customer. But in their terrible screaming matches, Millie never once admitted any of this. As far as she was concerned, Linda was a “business partner” and nothing else.

As she turned the key in the front door, a door bearing the dints from the kicks of many men’s’ boots, she stopped. Listened. She heard a faint rustling noise and it was coming from Millie’s bedroom. “Who’s there?” she called. She stepped into the passage and heard the rustling again, then the noise of a window opening. She knew immediately who it was. “Iris! Iris, is that you? Don’t run off, it’s me, Linda, your big sister.” The noise stopped. Linda hurried to the bedroom. It had no door. It was torn off long ago.

“You’re not me fuckn sister,” came the tense, thin voice.

“Iris?” Linda reached the doorway and saw Iris, standing by the window. “God in hell! You’re not fuckn dead!”

“What’s it fuckn look like?” says Iris, tense and hostile.

“What are you doing in here? Where’s the sheets?”

“I got rid of them.”

“Yer haven’t been sleeping in here, have you?”

“On and off.”

“Oh, Iris, I’m so glad you’re OK.” Linda rushed forward, arms outstretched. Iris stood, sullen. Allowed Linda to hug her, but she remained motionless.

“You’re so like Flo,” said Linda as she let go her hug. “So like her.”

“Yair, well it’s not my fault, is it?” Iris moves towards the window.

“If you’re leaving, you can go out the fuckn door, you silly bugger,” cries Linda, “But I don’t want you to go.”

“I gotta go. Gotta meet Chooka.”

“Yair? I know he’s been looking for you.”

“Yair, well he didn’t look too far, did he?”

“He went to Melbourne to find you”

“Yair? I didn’t know that. But I gotta go.”

“You know where he is?”

“He’s at the pub, where he always is, isn’t he?”

“So you haven’t heard?”

“What?”

“The Preacher arrested him for murdering Millie. He’s in gaol.”

“Oh fuckn shit! Why’d he do that?”

“Because he blamed Millie for your death—we all thought you was dead.”

Iris came back from the window. “Shit, Linda. What am I going to do?”

“Well, the first thing you should do is get yourself cleaned up and you can stay here for as long as you like. It will take me a while to get the place straightened up.”

“I knew Chooka would do something like this. His temper, it was fuckn awful,” said Iris.

“But he didn’t do it. You should go see him right now.”

“If not Chooka, who?”

“Who? Oh, but surely you can already guess.”

“Yair. Tank, our dear old dad.”

*

There was a timid knock at the door to Mr. Counter’s office and when he spun around on his stool, Mr. Counter saw Abbie nervously standing at the door,.

“Abbie, come right in. Is there a problem or something?”

“I’m sorry to trouble you Mr. Counter, but I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Do what? I’m a bit busy, trying to catch up on everything I missed by being away.”

“Well, I think there’s someone, er, well, we probably can guess who it is, sneaking into Jimmy’s room.”

“You mean…”

“I s’pose so, don’t you think? It wouldn’t be just anyone, would it?”

“Through the window?”

“Yes, Mr. Counter. I locked it, but whoever it is knows how to slip the catch.”

“So, you think it could be Iris?”

“Has to be, don’t you think? We all thought she was dead or something.”

“And the bed is slept in?”

“Yair, and it’s made up nicely each morning. That’s what Iris used to do when she stayed there.”

“The paper says they arrested Chooka for the murder,” said Mr. Counter.

“Yair, but he didn’t do it. He’s such a nice boy. That silly cop doesn’t know his ass from his elbow,” Abbie said.

“Yes, but I’m not that sure about Chooka. He has a really bad temper. And that night of the miscarriage, it was a terrible night, he was capable of anything.”

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, Mr. Counter, but I hope you didn’t say that to the cops.”

“Of course not. But who could deny his bad temper? He showed it lots of times, and in public too. We’ve got Sugar limping around to show for it.”

“I have to finish my cleaning, Mr. Counter.”

“Yes. Thank you, Abbie, for letting me know. I’ll keep a look-out for Iris. We all will.”