Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
Downs Creek is a small tranquil town 370 kilometres south of Wyndham in Western Australia. The Creek has a population growth of 1770, including surrounding homesteads and Aboriginal communes. Downs Creek has one hotel, the General Arms, a General Store, and a Police Station that stands adjacent to the local Town Hall and a Butcher Shop. If it was not for the sign on the Police Station, you could easily discard it for the Town Hall’s toilet block. On the outskirts of town sits the Caravan Park and Camping Ground. The Camping Grounds enclosed by a magnificently lush green bushland. The one road into Downs Creek consists of red clay and sandy rock that’s graded once a month. This has been a twenty-three-month argument over who will grade it. To this day, it is still unclear to who is responsible for the up grade. The Fitzroy Crossing Shire or the Wyndham Shire.
The town’s people voted that the local Sergeant, Ian Morris, should take their dispute to Canberra, and get the Politicians to resolve something for them. Morris told Parliament that he wanted the problem fixed in his lifetime, as he was aware of the red tape involved.
Ian Morris arrived in the district after being transferred from Onslow in 1979. Morris and two other officers received transfers after being reported by a concerned citizen, who had seen them playing two-up in a back alley with a group of men while in uniform. The police Commissioner John Edward’s took a disapproving view of the incident and had the two Constables removed from the force. Where Morris’s rank as Sergeant, he received a transfer to Downs Creek. Morris believes he is the one who received a bum deal. Since his arrival in Downs Creek, his workload has consisted of mainly paper work, which Morris finds extremely inept. His biggest job came two years ago when the police became involved in the arrest of an Aboriginal man for murder. Unfortunately, for Morris the Perth C. I. B. had taken over the investigation. Morris wanted to throw the towel in then and there, but after a few beers, he decided to stay with the paper work. Morris father procured the rank of Police Inspector in Port Headland before he was taken ill with cancer of the throat in 1959. Morris graduated from the Police Academy three weeks before his father’s death.
His brother Jeff returned home from the States where he had under taken a Business Marketing and Management course. Jeff had returned to take over the running of the family property in Onslow with his mother.
Mrs. Morris became very ill following her husband’s death and found it almost impossible to run the two hundred thousand-hectare property. Ian helped when he could, but with his police duties, and then with the transfer in 1979, it makes it virtually impossible.
The family is close, and Morris has considered giving the force away and help with the property, but his mother would not hear of it. She died in 1980 from pneumonia.
Ian’s father had hoped that Jeff to would have supervened in his footsteps, as he had his father’s. Jeff had let the family know from a very early age, that he had no intention of being a cop. Jeff had seen the demands and pressures that it had put on the family, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Ian saw it as an honour to continue on for his father and had not seen it as just another job vocation. Morris felt the ramifications were significant to him and his father’s attachment. Morris thought of his father often and on each visit would find time to pay his respects to his father’s grave.
Their father and son relationship became warm and amicable. Morris idolised his father and turned to him for inspiration and justification of his existence. Morris knew his father would want his expectations to be as elevated as his, and his ideas morally justified.
Morris sits busily at his desk on May 6, 1987; the hands on the wall clock clicks over to six sixteen pm. Morris has just completed a surplus of paper work. Morris anticipates getting out of the office and off to the pub for his usual couple of quiet ones before heading home. Morris relishes his nightly drink even though the doctors had given him stringent orders to give it away.
Morris supports a fifty-five-year-old body; he believes his fitness resembled a Mallee Bull. He is often telling his crew that no quack will tell him if he can or can’t drink. Morris is indeed out of shape. He is five foot ten and weighs in excess of fifteen stone. The corpulent flab around his face dances to his every facial movement. His eyes are encumbered with rolls of fat and his head would have been totally bald, if not for the lonely spasmodic strands of bloodless hair at the sides.
That Tuesday evening at six forty-five the office door flings open as if the wind has blown it from it’s hinges, it slams into the partition behind. Morris looks up in astonishment to see one of his young Constables standing before him. Shocked by his intrusion, and ready to severely reprimand the young man, Morris pulls himself into check. He notices the severe expression on the Constable’s face. Morris can foresee that this was no ordinary, but a more apt intrusion. Still, he wonders what would warrant such a display of conduct. The Constable’s mouth quivers in full motion, but Morris cannot make sense of the words.
“Slow down son, you’re not making sense.” Morris looks into the Constables pale blue eyes.
The Constable takes a second to gather his thoughts. Morris can see how agitated Constable Parker has become, and observes his rapid eye movement. Morris wonders if it were not for the clock ticking on the wall behind him if indeed he could hear a sprocket or two ticking over in the Constable’s head.
“There’s a Mr Koplin at the front desk, he has come in from the Caravan Park.” The Constable paces himself as he speaks, allowing each and every word to be clear and precise.
“He claims there has been a young child abducted by an Aboriginal from the Caravan Park”.
The Constable brakes off.
“Now calm down son.” Morris absorbs his every word. “I will handle this” The Sergeant replies in his not so abrasive voice. He brushes past the Constable as he makes his way to the front desk; Morris’s first notion is that this could be a practical joke. Around the holiday season tourist’s play these types of pranks. Just last week a man called the station and told the police that there was a bomb in the local school. Morris and his men checked it out, what they found was a flower bomb that ended up exploding in Morris’ face. All though the other officers found the prank amusing Morris did not. He gives the man the once over. His first impression of the man as Morris looks him over it appears to Morris that he doesn’t look the type who would have a sense of humour. He seems well dressed with a rugged unshaven look.
“I am Sergeant Morris!” He states. He thought by informing the gentleman of his rank, that if indeed the man was pulling a practical joke he’d think twice before pursuing it. The man’s eyes are slightly inflamed. Morris can smell a faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
“A young girl has had her baby taken from their tent; she is screaming something about a black person taking it.”
Morris can tell by the tone in the man’s voice that this indeed is no joke.
“Okay now start from the beginning.” The man looks the Sergeant over.
“There was a group of us at the barbecue when the woman became irate and started yelling that a black had taken her baby.” The man in his late forties tells the story as he saw it. “The rest of the men are out there looking for the child, I was told to come and get the police.”
Morris looks over to a blond hair Constable sitting at the desk beside him.
“Dan bring the car around, Parker you take Mr-....” Morris pauses, as he did not catch the man’s name.
“Mr Koplin!” The man replies.
“Take Mr Koplin’s statement, and then meet Mckenzie and me out at the park. Also get Sam and Kathy in; it’s going to be a long night. Also....” He calls as he reaches the door. “Contact the Children’s Welfare Services in Fitzroy Crossing.” The Sergeant’s words taper off as he races out. The Caravan park sits on the outskirts of town in a convenient position for tourists passing through.
Morris doesn’t speak as the car races down the main street with it’s siren wailing in the consistent wind, sending birds scurrying from their trees. Most of the locals stop and watch in amazement. Many of them were unaware that the police car even had a siren, as Downs Creek has never had an emergency where it warranted it’s use. The police car stops at the front park office. The two officers meet the Park Attendant who escorts them through the park on foot. Except for the glowing of the vans’ lights, the park looks as black as a rabbit’s warren. Morris armed with a folder and a torch struggles to get his torch to function without it flickering off and on. Constable Dan Mckenzie grabs the torch from his Sergeant and gives him his. Morris watches as Dan twists and shakes the torch to get it going. Morris feels the cold breeze that races between the vans’.
The night birds, occupying the enormous trees that encased the park, performed their nightly ritual. The wind picks up the light fragments of red topsoil and propels it around the park.
Morris shivers as the wind races through his thick jacket. He nibbles at his lips to refrain from releasing some satanic words. The three men stop when approached by another man. He is a wiry man wearing a pair of stubby shorts and a ripped tank top. Morris first thought is that he looks like some one’s disregarded greyhound. Morris half-heartedly listens to what the man has to say and feels even colder because the man’s dress being half that of his. He continues scouring the park with his torch. Dan takes down what the wiry man has to say.
“And who might you be?” Morris inquiries authoritatively.
“My name is Bill Phillip’s!” The man replies. “I have a tent next to the parents of the missing child.”
The four of them approach the tent. Morris looks over to the wiry man.
“Mr Phillip’s do you know what sex the child is?”
“Yes!” He replies enthusiastically. “A boy, he’s only four months old.”
Dan scribbles it down as he tells his story, juggling the torch and the pen at the same time.
“This is where the child was sleeping,” Bill informs them, and then he points to the scrub behind the tent. “And that’s where theAborigine went.”
Dan again begins quickly scribbling down notes.
“Was it a man or a woman?” Dan asks patiently waiting his reply.
“Who?” Bill asks totally bewildered.
“The aborigine, was it a man or a woman?”
“How the hell would I know? I didn’t see anything.
Morris who is busily scouring the park with his flashlight gives Bill a hard look and shines the light into Bills face causing him to look away momentarily.
“If you didn’t see anything how do you know the intruder was a black?”
Morris’s patience begins to wear thin. Bill scratches his head vigorously. He shivers with uncertainty.
“Well that’s what the woman was yelling.”
“The mother” Dan inquiries calmly.
“Yes!”
Morris turns to the park attendant.
“Russell do you know where we can find the parents?” His tone has dropped considerably.
Russell points to one of the larger vans on the East Side of the park. “The mother is in that green van with the yellow strip down the side.”
“Isn’t that Flo Bridges van?” Morris inquires.
“Yes, it is the father is still out searching.”
“What is the mother’s name?” Dan inquires.
“Tania, something, wait a minute it could be Bronson, or Bunsen, no Benson.” Russell takes a moment to think it over. He doesn’t want the wrath of Morris on him. He looks the two officers over. “Yes, Tania Benson and the father’s name is Garry.”
Dan and Morris look over the unoccupied tent with the aid of their torches. Morris observes the way the rugs lay in the cane bassinet; with the aid of his torch, he examines the ground on the inside of the tent.
Dan looks at his Sergeant.
“What do you think Sergeant?”
“I think we have a whole lot of trouble!” Morris moves some of the bedding and flashes his torch.
“Do you really think that an Aboriginal would take a white child serge?” Dan asks.
“To tell you the truth son, I don’t believe a black would take a white baby. I can’t comprehend the reason why.” The two officers spend some time looking around the tent before making their way over to the Bridges van.
As the two approach the green van with the yellow stripe, two Constables approach them
“Good Parker you made it!” Morris says in his sarcastic voice while pulling his jacket tighter around himself for extra warmth.
“Sergeant is it true that a black took the child?” Tom Parker asks with enthusiasm. Morris doesn’t bother to answer.
“Dan you take Parker and get statements from anyone who may have seen anything. Kathy, you come with me, we will see what the mother can tell us.”
Kathy has just turned twenty-one; she has long wavy black hair and brown eyes. She weighs around eight and a half stone. She’s wearing such an overpowering perfume that you can tell she had entered a room or that she had been in a room, as the scent lingers.
Morris has told her on numerous occasions that it would be best if she used less, but Kathy believed it is her life and she will wear as much as she likes.
Kathy arrived at Downs Creek, after being transferred from Adelaide in 1983 when a drug raid had gone wrong. Kathy’s perfume tipped the drug dealers off and the bust went wrong. The police Sergeant had stated in his report that Kathy was too inexperienced and thought the Creek would be the safest place for her.
Kathy and Morris arrive at the annexe door where they are met by a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a pink nightgown and a pair of white sheep skin slippers. The woman’s flowing long black hair is draped over one side of her face. She is slim and very attractive. Morris takes the time to look her over. Kathy makes eye contact with the woman and smiles slightly.
“Hello Margaret, we believe the child’s mother is here?”
Morris removes his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He gives Kathy that look he often gives when they work closely together; again her perfume has trigged off his sinuses. Kathy returns the look with the animosity it deserves.
Margaret and her mother are locals in the Creek and have lived in the park for six years. Morris knows the family well and had been good friends with Margaret’s father until his tragic death in 1986. Morris was out riding with Stewart Bridges when Stewart was thrown from his horse. His neck had broken and he died instantly from the fall.
Margaret turns to show the two officers into the van.
“Come in Sergeant?” She says in a soft voice.
Morris hesitates and gently squeezes her arm.
“Just a moment Margaret.” He insists in a low voice. “Can you tell us what happened?”
Margaret looks over to the Constable then back to Morris.
“I really did not see anything at all.” Margaret pushes the hair from her face revealing her beauty in the vans’ exterior light. “We were at the barbecue.”
Morris cuts in. “We?”
“Yes, there was Mum, John and Julie Taylor, Jean and Peter Thompson, Mark Tilly, Bully.”
“Bully?” The Sergeant asks.
“Chris Matthew’s, you know Sergeant he wrestled that bull out of Andrea climes store”. Kathy explains.
Margaret continues.” Judy and Sam Moss.” “There were a group of men over to one side of the barbecue area, but most of them I didn’t know, and the Benson’s.”
“Now Margaret I want you to think very carefully about what happened.” Morris fights with the small firefly that hovers around the vans’ exterior light. Margaret’s lips delicately pout as she swallows the lump that has formed in her throat.
“Sergeant, mum is probably the best person to ask what happened, because I left the barbecue area to get Jessie a drink at the time.”
Morris looks over to Kathy, as his nose twitches. They then follow Margaret into the van. Her mother Flo sits at the table, with her grey hair entangled in curlers and dressed in a grey night robe. As the officers enter, Flo throws them a slight smile, as she proceeds to stand up.
“Ian!” She says as she rises from her seat.
“Flo please don’t get up.” Morris insists.
Morris’s attention leaves Flo and focuses on a young brunette who sits quietly sobbing in a seat opposite. The woman’s facial features are captivating; the light above catches her frail bone structure, the high cheekbones, and her rosy red lips. Morris becomes transposed as her sapphire blue eyes sparkle with brilliance, as they are full of tears, and a slightly inflamed button nose caused from the unbroken foray of weeping. Morris looks her over and estimates her to be in her early twenties.
“Mrs. Benson I am Sergeant Morris from the Downs Creek police station and this is Constable Healed we need to ask you a few questions about your baby’s disappearance.”
Tania nods as she wipes the flowing tears from her eyes with her hand. Morris sits beside her and hands her the packet of tissues that sit on the corner of the table.
Margaret attends to her daughter Jessie who occupies a bed behind the curtain. Flo makes herself busy preparing coffee.
Kathy takes a seat and prepares to take notes. Tania wipes her nose and looks up into the Sergeant’s old tired brown eyes then parts her lips.
“What do you want to know?” She asks in a husky tone.
Her pure white teeth shine like pearls in the van lights. Morris hesitates to reply and became aware of his own hygiene, which would normally not worry him in the least.
“Mrs. Benson we need to know what happened, I want you to take your time and Tell us exactly what happened, can you do that?”
Tania removes another tissue from the box and again proceeds to blow her nose. Sitting up in her seat, she removes a strand of hair from her face. Morris looks up at Kathy the scent from her perfume encases the van. Again Kathy returns the stare.
“I put Daniel down at five which is his usual sleep time,” Tania speaks slowly and clearly as she tries to recall the evening’s events. Tania reaches for another tissue, as does Morris. They both proceeded to clear their noses.
Morris takes stock of his surroundings. The thirty-foot vans converted into two sections, the front is the kitchen and dining area, and the rear is the sleeping area.
The curtain between the kitchen and the rear of the van concealed the sleeping area. The van looks immaculately clean and tidy. The colour coordination helps to brighten the van’s interior. The knick-knacks occupying the coffee stained cabinet are of different origins. The aroma of cherry incense that Flo lit up on their arrival faintly wafts over Kathy’s overpowering perfume. The wall-to-wall carpet supplies the van with it’s air of warmth. Morris looks around for somewhere to place his tissue, and then he elects to stuff it in his jacket pocket.
“After straightening a few things in the tent I returned to the barbecue area.” Tania places the tissue to her nose and sniffles. “I started cooking tea when Garry returned.”
The Sergeant quickly interjects. “Returned, returned from were Mrs. Benson?”
Tania looks into the Sergeant’s eyes. She takes a moment then continues.
“Garry had gone for a walk, he told me he would be back before dark.”
Kathy scribbles in her folder.
“Mrs. Benson, what time did your husband get back?” Kathy’s voice becomes soft but harsh.
“Um!” Tania squeezes hard on the tissue as she searches for the answer.
“After dark.”
Flo places the tray of cups on the table. “It wouldn’t have been later than six,” Flo interjects.
“Mrs. Benson”
“Call me Tania please.” She replies.
Morris continues.
“Tania, what happened once your husband returned?”
“As I said I had just started getting our tea. Garry ended up talking to a couple from one of the other tents, then he turned and....”
She brakes off as the tears start flowing down her cheeks again she mops them up with the tissue. The Sergeant can feel the unease in the van.
“He asked me if I had put the flap down in the tent.”
Again, the tears discharge, this time some moments have elapsed before she continues.
Flo stands next to Morris with her hand pressed over her mouth. No one speaks; they wait to see if Tania will continue. Tania takes a deep breath and her eyes dart into Morris’s.
“I knew that I had not if I had said no....”
“Please calm down Miss.” Morris says with concern.
Tania takes a breath.
“He would have killed me.”
Kathy’s eyes clash with her Sergeant’s. The look is that of disbelief.
“So I said yes, he believed me and when I had a chance I slipped away to, to” Tania again brakes down in tears.
“Sergeant, can you do this later?” Flo insists, showing compassion for the girl’s loss.
Before the Sergeant can reply.
“No, I’m alright Flo really.” Tania slowly continues.
Her eyes are red and beginning to puff up.
“As I walked up to the tent I could see someone running off with”
Her head falls into her hands.
“Why, why did they take my baby why?” Tania yells hysterically and then falls into a foray of crying.
Morris thinks this is a good time to stop and he nods over to Kathy who gathers her folder.
“Flo I will give Mrs. Benson some time to gather herself, but I will be back.”
The two officers depart the van and make their way over to the Benson’s tent. Morris shivers as the cold chill rivets through his jacket.
“Did you believe any of that Sergeant?” Kathy inquiries in a sarcastic tone.
“At this point in time Constable, I don’t know what to believe.” Morris continues to shine his torch into the trees ahead of him.
“Sergeant she’s full of it,” Kathy interjects.
Morris stops and looks into Kathy’s face “Are you insinuating that I believe her?” His voice becomes harsh. “Come on Sergeant, you saw her, she’s putting it on.” Morris is becoming cold, tired, and hungry and is not in the mood to argue with her. “I have told you about wearing that perfume!” He replies changing the subject.
The lack of moonlight makes the park gloomier than usual the tents and vans are not so visible. The night bird life had dwindled since their arrival, as has many of the female spectators hovering around the barbecue area. Morris cringes as the red earth beneath him, crumbles like a cockroach shell. Morris and Kathy meet Parker and Dan returning from the tent.
“Anything?” Morris inquires.
“No Sergeant,” Parker replies shining his torch around the park.
“Nobody saw a thing, just Mrs. Benson screaming.”
Kathy’s auburn hair blows around her face as the cold wind races through them.
“The men have returned, and the father is over in that tent,” Parker tells Morris shining his torch in thedirection picking up a group of men.
“Get a statement from all of them Dan, and take Parker with you. Kathy get onto Fitzroy Crossing I want more people out here, and see if you can have a tracker here by first light, also get some lighting rigged up. I will try the mother again”.
Morris shines his torch around the park.
“What a bloody mess.”
Morris knows that the case is delicate. White’s accusing a black of stealing a baby can only be a repeat of unrest between the two races. A few years ago there was trouble of a white man raping a black woman and then the black man retaliating by killing him. Morris considered the allegation of a black taking a white child as ludicrous.
