Published: 8 Sep 2022

Dev had been home for two days and remained somewhat confused about his emotions, also in such a short period he had accustomed to the open spaces, now he felt as if the street and house were closing on him. He had spent the final night in Toby’s bed but on the return trip nothing was mentioned about that night or of the future, although Toby made it clear it was now up to Dev as he was committed.

As Dev arrived late in the evening of the previous day Ilene hadn’t pressured her son about his working experience and after breakfast on the following morning she found voice.

“So Devon how did you enjoy working with sheep?”

“Great, I learned a lot and guess what mum?”

“I’m guessing,”

“I can now ride a horse,”

“So it wasn’t all work,”

“Lots of down time for riding and swimming,” Dev gave a secret smile while mentioning swimming.

“Will you remain working for Tobias now that you have returned?”

“I hope so although nothing was said, I’m to meet with him on Friday. How would you like to live in the country mum?”

“I wouldn’t, my Christmas visits to your Aunt Lucy were enough to cure me of country.”

“It was so different the air smelled of dust and wattle blossom, the grass green with spring rain and no matter where you looked there wasn’t any buildings or cobbled streets.”

“The country air has turned you into a poet,” Ilene laughs.

“I wouldn’t go that far,”

“Will you be travelling up country again?”

“I don’t know, as I said nothing was mentioned.”

It was Doug Jones who noticed the change in his friend and waited until they were alone before challenging Dev’s somewhat changed disposition.

“What is going on you appear different?”

“You think so?”

“I said so.”

Dev diverts, “mum said you were a god-send while I was away,”

“That isn’t answering my question,”

“It isn’t is it?” Dev happily answers as they cross busy Victoria Parade while dodging the buggies and Hansom cabs.

“Mind where you go lad,” a dray driver warns as Dev stands in a steaming pile of horse manure, “Shit!” he loudly exclaims while shaking it from his boot.

“That’s what it is – horse shit; now as I asked, what went on while you were away?” Jones again questions as they enter into the Treasury Gardens.

“Nothing,”

“I’ve known you long enough to know something is up.”

“A question Douglas,” Dev quietly asks.

“You called me Douglas. It must be serious.”

“It is,”

“Go on,”

“Do you like men?”

“I let them fuck me don’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you like them, what I mean are you attracted to men and not women.”

Jones gives air to the question.

“Well?” Dev stresses.

“I’ve never been with a woman,”

“Now you are dodging my question.”

“I think I answered that question before you went away. I said I would let you do me,”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Dev is becoming annoyed with his friend’s elusiveness.

“Then if I must answer. Yes I am attracted to men but I would like to try a woman if only once.”

Dev commences to laugh scaring the ducks on a small ornamental lake as they pass.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking I would also like to try it with a woman.” Dev admits.

“We could go over to Madam Brussels at the Lon and sample her girls.”

“It costs more than the half sovereign I have in pocket,” Dev confesses.

“I have sixpence so we may get something, even if it is only greasing the cat’s arse.”

Dev laughs even louder towards the absurdity of their conversation, “also the clap,” he says.

“Where is this going Dev?” Jones asks as the ducks make full circle and return to the lake.

“As my chum I suppose I should explain.”

“I think you should,”

A quiet moment passes before Dev commences his explanation.

“Have you ever been in love Jonesy?” Dev’s tone lowers into uncertainty towards continuing.

“Only with my hand,” Jones lifts his hand, makes a fist, giving a pumping motion.

“I think I’m – well I don’t like the word as it sounds so weak.”

“In love?”

“I guess that is what you could call it.”

“Who with?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Not your boss, Toby?”

“Yes Toby and now it is out and I hope you keep it to yourself.”

“You know I will but how – when?”

Dev related their swim, their final night together and Toby’s admittance of his attraction but most of all his confused state of mind.

“So when are you meeting up with Toby again?”

“Friday,”

Jones expresses a cheeky smile.

“I don’t know, Toby is my boss, it doesn’t seem right.”

“If you are in bed with him then he is more than your boss.”

“I can’t take money even for work now.”

“I do,”

“Doug I’m not a whore and money would make me so,”

“I’m not a whore,” Jones protests.

They come to Spring Street and Dev takes Jones’ arm, “coffee?” he asks.

“Not enough coin,” Jones admits.

“Come on I’ll shout you a coffee and one of those cakes you like.”

As they cross Spring Street Jones asks; “have you told Toby how you feel about him?”

“In a way but I didn’t mention my future working for him and as I said that worries me.”

Jones pauses with memory, “by the way there has been two visits from that detective fella’ from Russell Street and he wants to talk with you.”

“Why?” Dev immediately went into defensive mode. What had he done that would involve the police. Had he been reported for stealing the chicken but that was long ago and as for picking it had been long since his fingers found nimble action in another’s coat pocket.

“He said his boss promised he only wishes to ask you some questions about Marcus and he wants me to call into the police station and let him know when you return but I said I wouldn’t unless you agreed to meet with him.”

“It all sounds a little clandestine,” Dev says.

“What is clandestine?”

“You know secretive,”

“I can’t say, only he promised you weren’t in any trouble, he only wishes to talk with you.”

“I suppose I should go to Russell Street and see what he wants.”

“No he doesn’t want you to go to Russell Street, he asked me to let him know if you agree and he would arrange a meeting through me.”

“Again, I ask why?”

“Who knows, all I can think is maybe he doesn’t want his walloper mates knowing about the meeting.”

“Alright let him know I’ll meet with him but I can’t imagine how I can help. Come on let’s have coffee and cake and I’ll tell you all about my horse riding.”

“I also have other news,” Jones says while unable to prevent his expression to happily broaden.

“Go on,”

“I have work,”

“Not the docks I hope.” Dev warns.

“No I’ve come to realize that next time I may not have someone to save me,” Jones gives Dev a thankful push to the shoulder.

“Go on what then?”

“Jack found me work at Mitchell’s brick factory, I’m to start Monday.”

“I am relieved and you thought Jack didn’t like you,” Dev admits.

Heavy spring rain had quietened down activity about Marvellous Melbourne and O’Keefe was late to his office after following up reporting of stand over activity in the North Melbourne precinct. As he hung his coat the desk constable came through to him.

“What appears to be the matter Jackson?” O’Keefe asks and gives a shudder against the lingering chill from the morning rain.

“There is a scruffy young gentleman who wishes to speak with you Mr. O’Keefe,”

“By what name?”

“He wouldn’t give a name but said you would know who.”

“Give me a minute and show him in.”

On entering into his office O’Keefe searches his busy desk for something. He finds a file marked Marcus Finn and refreshes his memory with the little information that had been gathered. Moments later there is a gentle knocking to his office door.

“Come in,”

Douglas Jones enters dripping water across the floor, “sorry Jones says,”

“Haven’t you a coat?” O’Keefe asks somewhat irritated from the dripping across his highly polished flooring.

“No sir, I can’t afford the luxury of a coat.”

“Has Mr. Gooding agreed to speak with me?”

“He has but can’t understand how he can be of assistance.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” O’Keefe reaches for his appointment book; “let’s see,” he says and turns the page to Friday, “would Mr. Gooding be home Friday?”

“No sir, he will be working that day,”

“Then early Thursday morning? “I think that should be alright,”

“Then let Mr. Gooding know I will call to his premises at nine thirty sharp on Thursday.” O’Keefe folds his arms, his eyes are on Jones while coming to the realization, if Devon Gooding was associated with Marcus Finn, possibly Jones would have also been an associate.

O’Keefe commences to question; “were you also associated with the deceased Marcus Finn?”

“I was,”

“In what capacity would that have been?”

“A longtime mate that is all.” Jones was cautious not to refer to the Smith-street push.

“A mate,”

“Yes a mate, is there some problem Mr. O’Keefe?”

“What about the deceased a Mr. Stanley Bryce?”

Jones’ voice commences to rise, “Brice was definitely no mate but if you are thinking I had anything to do with topping him you can think again.”

“Settle down lad there was no such suggestion, don’t forget to pass on my message to Mr. Gooding about Thursday.”

“I will but I don’t think he can tell you anymore on Marcus than I, as we hadn’t seen him for some time leading up to his death.”

“Thank you Mr. Jones, that will be all and I’ll be the judge of that, it is surprising what information one has without realising.”

What O’Keefe doesn’t reveal to Jones is he is more interested in Dev’s association with Stanley Bryce than with Marcus Finn although he was beginning to believe both murders were possibly related incidents. He already knew that Dev had visited Bryce on at least one occasion but was more than certain the lad had nothing to do with Bryce’s demise. Even so it was possible Dev was able to give information on Bryce’s so called Firm which could at least clear up a mounting pile of paperwork on its further activities within the city.

In O’Keefe’s belief Bryce was responsible for Finn’s killing over the skiff incident; or in the least had arranged it but if so, who was responsible for Bryce’s demise? Common belief was someone from the Richmond Push for poaching territory but now the detective was beginning to think it may have been closer to home.

Nine thirty sharp on the Thursday there was a confident knocking on the Gooding door. Ilene answered to discover O’Keefe alone and ready to interview her son.

“Good morning Mrs. Gooding is Devon at home?” the detective asks while his policeman’s eyes are about the room for any evidence of pilfery.

“Yes I’ll call him,” as Ilene spoke Dev with Jones following entered into the room.

“I would prefer to speak with Mr. Gooding alone,” O’Keefe says.

“And I would prefer Doug to remain,” Dev declines.

“Very well,” O’Keefe agrees and removes a pencil and small note book from his pocket, then without invitation he sits at the table. “If you don’t mind I will take notation of what is said.”

“No I don’t mind,” Dev agrees.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ilene says and leaves to attend to her washing.

Once Ilene had departed Dev speaks, “is this about the murder of Marcus?”

“Not directly Mr. Gooding I am more interested in your association with Stanley Bryce,”

“Oh,” Dev says.

“Does that concern you?”

“No not at all, as I didn’t association with Stan Bryce.”

“You were at least on one occasion seen visiting the Bryce premises. Could that not be considered association?”

“True but that was only to let him know about a message concerning him painted on the wall at Franklyn Lane.”

“What did Bryce have to say about that?”

“Not a lot, only he would have it removed and later he made comment about the incorrect spelling of his name.”

“And later you say, so that was a second visit to his residence after he had painted over the comment on the lane wall?”

“Yes,”

“Did Mr. Bryce have suspicions on who may have placed the comment in Franklyn Lane?”

“He did but wouldn’t say. Besides at that time he was starting to distrust everyone.”

“Was there further meeting between you and Mr. Bryce?”

“No none; except for a passing in the street.”

“Did Mr. Bryce speak with you?”

“Yes,”

“On what subject?”

“He had heard Marcus was mouthing off about him and he would give him grief for doing so.”

“Kill him?”

“No,” Dev gives a shy grin, “he said he would cut of Marcus’ balls,”

“Do you believe that was possibly a threat to kill Marcus?” O’Keefe asks.

“No I don’t, oddly Bryce appeared quiet cheerful about it all, besides he often threatened to do likewise to most of us.”

“Most of us you say?”

“Simply long time friends that is all.”

“So there were other meetings with Mr. Bryce?”

“Not meetings only passing comment in the street.”

O’Keefe had many more questions and in the main Dev could supply no more than a scant of information but it was enough to follow a lead the detective was formulating. After more than an hour the interview was concluded. On departing O’Keefe had one more question for Dev.

“Oh one last question Mr. Gooding, do you believed there was any truth in the slur on Mr. Bryce’s character?”

“What slur would that be?” Dev asks although he well understood the direction of the question.

“What was written on the Franklyn Lane wall?”

“I couldn’t say,”

The policeman hesitated but questioned no further, he bid good day and departed.

Back in his office O’Keefe refers to his notes, also a number of banking accounts he gleaned as evidence and calls for Constable Turner, who enters from the adjoining room.

“How was the interview with Mr. Gooding?” Turner asks.

“Nothing new but it did strengthen my line of enquiry and I remain interested in the handwriting on the note from Bryce’s house, also his colleagues’ business affairs.”

“You said only Bryce had access to the banking account Mr. O’Keefe,”

“Yes I did but now I have discovered his solicitor at Thompson, Percy and Brewster was managing Bryce’s affairs, so I shall give them a visit. If they managed Bryce’s business they may also manage those we believe to be his associates.”Have you discovered more on his associates?”

“Some, although since Mr. Bryce’s demise they have become somewhat panicked and I believe it is only time before their association fractures but I fear someone here in Russell Street is supplying them with information.”

“Yes I agree, have you any idea who that would be,”

“Constable John Clair from street patrol comes to mind.”

“He’s not within my jurisdiction; we should at least keep an eye on him.”

“I could do that as our wives are associated with the same church group,” Turner suggests.

“Then be cautious we don’t wish to panic them at this stage in the investigation.”

As Turner leaves the room O’Keefe again compares the note from Bryce’s mantle to the writing on the Firm’s banking statements. What he found disappointing was the samples affiliated with the account were obviously in the hand of Bryce, yet one counter signature although illegible was that of one who appeared to have little education.

Almost immediately O’Keefe recalls Turner into his office, “Would you arrange a meeting with Mr. Clive Percy from Thompson, Percy and Brewster for me for sometime tomorrow.”

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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