Published: 28 Jul 2022

O’Keefe had been seated at his desk quietly staring at the note he had found on Bryce’s overmantle for a good ten minutes. Eventually Constable Turner questioned his mulling.

“Have you come to any conclusion Mr. O’Keefe?”

“Handwriting Turner,” O’Keefe simply says.

“Handwriting?” Turner questions and places down his pen and spectacles in anticipation for further clarification.

“Yes you can learn much from a man’s handwriting.”

“What have you learned from the invitation to Bryce you found on his overmantle?”

“Firstly and in my opinion it was written by someone attempting to disguise his style, which would suggest he was known to Mr. Bryce.”

“Anything else?’ Turner asks.

“Yes, Bryce’s name is again spelt with I and not Y, as that what was written on the wall in Franklyn Lane, thus in probability penned by the same person. It is also a style of someone who is fastidious about his person, I would say one who wears fine clothing and would never be seen out of doors without his hat.” O’Keefe takes a pause as he places the note aside, “yet he is a man with limited education.”

“That could describe half the male population of Melbourne.”

“True,” O’Keefe sighs.

“Still, you discovered all that from but a few words; I am most impressed,” Turner compliments.

“But not enough to make an arrest is it?”

“Do you retain the belief it was one of the Richmond gang who killed Mr. Bryce?”

“No, the Richmond push has been without leadership for some time; I think it was someone closer to Bryce, or possibly someone he had threaten with extortion, possibly a storekeeper or someone who was pimping and Bryce got on his wrong side.”

“What of the Finn murder?” Turner asks.

“One could believe it was done by the same person. Same blow to the back of the head with a blunt instrument and by its direction someone of the same height being right handed and seeing the blow came from behind in both incidents, one could imply a measure of cowardice but that could possibly be nothing but a coincidence of chance.”

“Again that could describe almost everybody in Melbourne,” Turner suggests.

“Unfortunately Turner quite true but I can’t connect Finn with Bryce, well not for the reason of murder anyway, yet Bryce still seems most likely for Finn’s demise, yet how and why? Besides it is well known he was out of town at the time.”

Once again O’Keefe takes up the note, “If only to rule them out, I would dearly love to get a sample of those in Bryce’s gang’s handwriting. Did you manage to obtain more names?”

“A number of names, not all but there is a way to obtain samples of their handwriting,” Turner suggests.

“How would that be Turner?”

“Bank accounts, they would most definitely have accounts.”

“Ah but which bank would they use?”

“That to a degree is simple, when you had me follow some of the gang; I discovered that two visited the same bank.”

“What bank would that be?”

“It was the bank of New South Wales at the top end of Bourke Street, next to the coaching depot and livery yard.”

“I am acquainted with the manager of that branch. I must arrange to have lunch with him,” O’Keefe suggests.

Dev was supposed to be at Toby’s at ten thirty but was held up with the marching along Bourke Street by at least a hundred banner waving, hymn singing women of the temperance movement. As he attempted to push past the police arrived in numbers, turning the protest into a mêlée of screaming harpies. Moments later the police moved in and the women became even more vocal bordering on hysterical, using their banners to clobber anyone in reach as many were roughly bundled into a row of waiting paddy wagons.

Dev had to be quick not to receive a nasty blow as a banner whizzed past his ear to break on the footpath at his feet, creating necessity for him to detour along Lonsdale Street to Russell and double back to Jolimont where he was caught with the rearguard of the temperance protest as he reached Russell Street.

“What do you think of all that?” Dev asked Toby after explaining why he was late and the actions of the women.

“Do you drink alcohol,” Toby asked bringing the lad to believe his boss was as down on the so described demon drink as were the women.

“I do,” Dev admitted, “occasionally although mostly beer,” he affixed believing he may be in for a lecture.

“Then go into the kitchen, there are two bottles of Fosters in the ice-chest they should be nice and cold by now.”

It was past lunchtime and the sky to the south-west was growing dark with cloud. Toby looked up and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s hot,” he says.

“It also looks like we are in for a storm,” Dev points towards the incoming gloom.

“We’ll call it a day, come in and have some lunch. Did you think more on helping Hubbard with the women’s meeting? ”

“I did, I’ll give it a go, although I think you will be disappointed, mum always said of me it would be like making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

“Don’t put yourself down, you will do fine.” Toby goes to his room and returns with a package.

“What’s that?” Dev questions.

“New clothes, I took a chance you would agree.”

Dev responds with a nervous titter as he examines the package.

“Go on try them on for size; if they don’t fit I will exchange them.”

Dev opens the package and holds up a shirt, he laughs, “this will really be attempting to posh-up the sow’s ear. I don’t think I would feel right wearing it.”

“It would only be for a couple of hours once a month and you wouldn’t need to leave the house.”

Dev places the shirt aside and inspects the trousers with the same opinion. Beneath he discovers a second set.

“The others are to replace what you are now wearing, they are general working man’s gear so shouldn’t show you up with your mates.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Dev says and becomes emotional as no one had ever given him a gift so grand before.

“I have to spend my family retainer on something,” Toby admits, “I was a little concern for your size as you are still growing.”

“At my age?”

“You may not notice any change but you are filling out to fit what nature has designed for you.”

“What do you mean by nature’s design?”

“There is a natural clock in us all and it turns off when we reach its designated hour.”

“That’s smart,” Dev makes light, “and does it sound off like an alarm clock?”

“Do you like reading Dev?”

“I can but mostly old newspaper and bottle labels, there isn’t a lending library in Collingwood and you have to look the part to visit the library in town.”

“There is a substantial library to the back of the main hall, if you wish you can borrow books at any time.”

“I never have time to sit about reading,”

“What about at nights,”

“We have to save the candles and lamp oil.”

It had been raining during the previous day and all through the night but by midmorning the sun came out. Firstly Dev had to deliver a load of washing for his mother then as he would not be needed by Toby until the following day he was off to visit John Luck at their usual meeting place on Cathedral Square.

The square was chosen as for some peculiar reason the police on street duty didn’t approach for loitering, possibly because of the religious infliction cast by the cathedral’s shadow, as if the hand of god was protecting those who lingered there. It was as good a theory as any and on two separate occasions while Dev waited, a police officer passed him by without comment. Another theory and more to point was Dev no longer had the appearance of a street kid and with his new clothes more that of a young man, possibly waiting for a wagon to collect him to transport him to his place of work.

Eventually John Luck arrived and even at some distance his saunter was obvious within the crowd. “Whatya’ upta’,” he says on approach, as was his usual greeting.

“Waiting for you,” Dev answers.

“I hear from Fisky’ you have a job,”

“I do but only part time,”

“What about the Smith-street boys,” Luck asks displaying a measure of disappointment.

“Na getting too old for that caper besides since Finn was done in, the push hasn’t really existed.”

“True and Fisky’ is mostly out fishing with his uncle and young Smithy’ has gone to ground, as he was caught with his hand in someone’s pocket and was fortunate enough to receive a warning and a little fist work.”

“Is he alright,” Dev asks.

“Yea it was more to scare him off. How is Jones?”

“Much better but has become somewhat cautious around strangers.”

“That was always a chance hanging about those blokes.”

“Your meaning?” Dev asks.

“You know, men who can’t make up their mind.”

“You appear experienced John,” Dev teases.

“Na, not me mate; I like the girls too much, I’m a tits and bum fella’.”

“Does it worry you about Jones?”

“It’s his choice and he is a mate but I’ve always wondered about you,” Luck says with a wry sideward glance and grin.

“There is no need to,” Dev answers and Luck accepts but the question lingered with Dev. ‘What about me?’ he thinks while remembering his recent conversation with Jones. Was it but jest, or would he cross that thin line from jest to reality?

Dev shook it away, “how’s your mate from Armadale going?”

“Graham, I haven’t seen him for a while,”

“I was thinking of the steam carriage where his old man works,”

“Last I heard they were still having difficulty attaching the engine to the bodywork, I don’t know why he bothers as he can get one that runs on gasoline from overseas.”

“I saw an image of one that was working in a place called Germany,” Dev admits.

“Where did you see the image?”

“In a book in my boss’s library,”

“Yea Fisk mentioned you were working for some toff.”

“It’s only a little gardening work.”

Luck then became serious, he wrinkled his brow as he often did while in thought, his eyes cast across Princes Bridge towards the line of wagons and Hansom cabs making their way in both directions. “I’ll have to find work there isn’t any future in picking pockets and look what happened to Bryce, if you join the big leagues it is more than the slammer that threatens.”

“Have you had any offers?” Dev asks.

“I get a little with a friend of the family who has a carting business but it is mostly casual, although with the number of evictions of late the business is growing.

It was at that moment Dev realized he was no longer a boy but a man and in charge of his own direction. He also noticed his friend had independently come to the same conclusion and both were prepared to put away their old ways.

During the previous few months the depression that hung over the colony like a wet sponge had worsen but even so there appeared to be, as some would say light at the end of the tunnel, a dim light maybe but there was promise of better times to come. There appeared to be more manual laboring work with the government releasing what little money it had towards building projects. Also the winds of change were blowing from the north as overseas the depression lessened but like the changing seasons it would take some time before turning to the south. For now Melbourne, as with the other five colonies across the great antipodean continent, was truly on its own.

Hadley had not yet arranged for the sister to take possession of Bryce’s property and as the house remained empty he alternated between his own premises and that of Bryce. His reasoning for doing so was to confuse anyone attempting to discover his dealings, making it difficult for anyone to track him down or do him harm, also he was beginning to understand the paranoia Bryce displayed leading to his demise. Now it was Hadley turn, believing the Firm was plotting against him as even Bolt had become somewhat distant and appeared to be associating more with Worth than appreciated.

There was also a problem with the retainers at Russell Street police station. There had been a shakeup of positions and a number of transfers to other stations, so the information flow was drying away, while becoming more expensive to keep those brave enough on side. Besides in the main they remained loyal to a dead man. If Stan Bryce had faults one was not lacking in charisma, as with a smile he could dissolved any distrust in the most cautious mind and with a sneer could destroy one’s future.

Twice that afternoon Bryce’s telephone rang but not being his service Hadley allowed it to ring out. ‘Who could it be?’ He thought it may be one from the Firm but none knew he was there. When he alternated between houses he kept quiet about his movement not to be surprised by an assailant as Bryce had been. Then again he may have been followed, even after he had taken a cab into town and changed cabs in Elizabeth Street.

“I’m becoming paranoid!” Hadley huffed loudly as the telephone once again sounded. This time he answered using a disguised voice.

“Who is it?” he softly demanded.

There was a clicking sound and then silence without the usual abrupt voice of Mal Davies the telephonist. Hadley was about to contact Davies to discover the problem with the line but thought better; as if it had been someone wishing to converse with him, Davies would have spoken. Besides line faults were quite common in those early years and often the apparatus would chirp for no apparent reason.

“I’ll have it disconnected tomorrow,”

“Who could it have been?”

“Now I’m talking to myself,”

He released a shiver of fear.

‘I’ve never liked this house,’ he thinks.

‘It has no soul,’

Hadley was beginning to believed it unwise to remain at Bryce’s house, as it was obvious someone knew he was there and even his own property was somewhat remote. ‘I’ll take a flat in town,’ he thinks and readied for bed but found sleeping difficult as he woke at every sound, every barking of a dog, every neighing or snort of a Hansom cab’s horse, or metal wheel on bluestone cobbled street.

Past midnight there was shouting in the street and the sound of boots on cobble. Now fully awake Hadley goes to the window, being cautious to hide within the shadows of the room. Two men are walking along the street, obviously drunk, laughing as they pushed at each other. One throws and empty bottle, it shatters loudly across the cobbles and the sound of breaking glass echoes along the double row of terraces. A dog starts barking but soon goes quiet. Directly across a candle is lit and a dark figure protrudes beyond an open window but as quickly the light is extinguished and the window closes. One of the drunks goes into a house, the other continues along the street, he stumbles and curses loudly then rights himself before continuing on.

Hadley’s heart is racing while feeling its thumping in his ears.

As a child he was afraid of the dark and the fear had never completely lifted from his spirit. He recalled his mother’s words, Thomas there is nothing to fear but fear itself. He repeats his mother’s words as he watched the second man enter a house further along from the first.

The street became silent.

“But fear itself,” he repeats the words but also remembers it was his mother who fed his fear with her stories of horror, while cruelly laughing when terror brought on tears.

Hadley returned to bed but his sleep remained troubled. He was sleeping in a dead man’s bed and could smell Bryce’s person on the pillow. It was not invasive and touched lightly with perfume, as Bryce liked to wear floral scent, being another reason for Hadley to belittle the man. He throws the pillow aside but now the thought of sleeping in the bed of a murdered man brings further dread. Could the spirit of Bryce linger in the house?

Along with fear of the dark Hadley feared ghosts. As a child his mother would tell stories of the dead returning to have vengeance on those who did them wrong. Would Bryce’s spirit wander his house in revenge for Hadley taking over the Firm? With a shudder Hadley left the room and bedded down on the downstairs sofa but as the first light of the new day peeped through the gap in the living room curtains, Hadley found he hadn’t slept at all and now wide awake felt more exhausted than he had ever experienced.

With the morning Hadley closed the house and took the keys along with the deed of ownership to the Firm’s solicitor, Thompson, Percy and Brewster, arriving as the doors opened for that day’s business.

“Mr. Hadley, what brings you about at such an early hour?”

“Clive, I have some business for you to attend to,” Hadley admits and all but pushes past the man into his office. Once inside he closes the door behind against any snooping from the man’s secretary.

“What would that be Tom, you appear somewhat flustered.”

“Nothing but a little trouble sleeping,”

“I could give you a draft I have from the chemist,”

“I don’t believe in them Clive.”

“What is the business you speak of?”

“It’s relating to Bryce’s estate, as you would know I have been elected to run the Firm, so we need to tidy the accounts and his property.”

“I guess as much but haven’t had any instructions since Stan’s funeral. A tragic affair I must say. Does anyone know who did him in?”

“Not as such, there was suggestion it may have been the Richmond boys,”

“What do you think Tom?” Clive Percy asks.

“I don’t,”

“What business can I help you with Tom?” Percy again asks, knowing better than to pry into the Firm’s business further than what was offered, also under the circumstances the less he knew the better.

Hadley places Bryce’s house keys and deed on Percy’s desk.

“They are Bryce’s house keys and the deed to his property,” he says.

Percy waits for instructions without speaking.

“He has a sister living in Geelong, the property and contents should go to her, could you arrange it.”

“Had Bryce performed a will and testament?” Percy enquired.

“From what I recollect Stan didn’t believe in doing so, he said it only increased the chance of someone doing you in.”

“It appears that has been the result will or not,” Percy says.

“It seems that way,” Hadley releases a weak smile.

“Do you know his sister’s name or address?” Percy asks.

“I couldn’t say; I don’t believe she has married, so I suggest she would also be a Bryce, I believe her given name is Joyce, besides that is what we pay you for.”

“Is there money to be transferred to his sister?”

“No, any money in his accounts is the Firm’s money, you are to transfer it as such and take, say five percent for your troubles,” Hadley pauses, “another thing arrange to have Bryce’s telephone service disconnected.”

“Consider it done Tom, is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of,”

Percy collects Bryce’s house deed and keys and places them in a drawer. “What do you think of the Collingwood City Council’s new ruling?” he asks.

“What ruling would that be?”

“It is to do with business closing times as the Collingwood council has allowed stores to stay open past ten o’clock until eleven on six days of the week.”

“Does that include gambling and whore houses?” Hadley grins.

“I would say not,” Percy laughs knowing the illegality of such establishments and how the city fathers would dearly love to clear the streets of such establishments.

“Then it won’t affect me but why the fuss?”

“I should think in the most the eight hour working day and the lack of payment for the extra hour.”

“They should be grateful for work at all Mr. Percy.”

Hadley departed the solicitor’s office with a feeling of wellbeing towards Bryce’s sister, a woman he only had inkling existed and by doing a rare good deed he lifted from the grayness of the early morning. He tipped his hat to a woman and wished her well in passing and again to the doorman as he entered into his favorite coffee house. Yet deep down there was fear and now he believed he may have been a little hasty in wanting to be top of the heap. It was becoming lonely there and dangerous. Even so it did give him a measure of confidence but along with the confidence there still lingered fear, if a man with Bryce’s self-esteem could so easily be snuffed out, so could he and what of that kid Bryce was grooming for the Firm. What did he know about the Firm’s business?

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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