3 days ago, a High Court judge had received a letter from Lovett, detailing the latest developments, the lack of solid evidence in the initial case and the fact that it now appeared that the original perpetrator had returned to his killings. The judge, the Honourable William Pasco, conveyed the letter to four other judges, all of whom agreed to review the case. The five judges had spent the past two days going over every piece of information that had been presented back in 1935. They looked through all the latest evidence provided to them about the latest spate of murders, including the similarities that reappeared at most of the crime scenes. Then, last night they had come together for a late afternoon meeting that continued through until 8pm, right around the time poor Clancy was riding the lightning bolt. A motion was passed that would see the release of one “Harry Lightman” at the prison’s earliest convenience.
He was going to be freed. The time had been set at 10am, Saturday 12th June. Lovett had ensured that there would be as much publicity as possible, calling every newspaper and radio station he could. He worked for a prestigious law firm in Melbourne and one thing prestigious law firms enjoyed was free publicity, especially when it’s favourable to them.
11.
The guards later told me that Harry sat in his cell patiently waiting for one of them to come and escort him to the front of the prison. His belongings, half a dozen books as well as his toothbrush, sat in a box on the floor next to the door. He kept looking at the box, almost meditative and when the guard watching him asked how he felt, he mumbled something about thinking just how little a person truly needed to live in this world. Not survive as such, but rather just to live. He said he didn’t need the clothes he had accumulated as they were mostly prison uniforms. His artwork he had given to one of the other prisoners, together with his paints and brushes. He certainly wasn’t going to need them anymore. Once out in the real world, he’d be able to attain some proper supplies for his art. Proper brushes, paints that had actual brand names and canvases that were purer than white. Ralph said he also asked him how his monetary situation was and Harry gave him a big grin, saying his finances were especially plump, thanks to “a rich uncle”. And as the minutes ticked by, Harry just sat on his bed, hands in his lap and eyes staring at the floor, that grin never leaving his face.
12.
Jacob was attaching the chain to his truck while Charlie was trying to push the other end under the branches of the tree. The men on the other side of it pulled the chain through then swung it back across the top. Charlie pulled the chain tight and tightened it around the trunk, pulling smaller branches this way and that to make sure it sat snug. When it looked like it was ready to go, Jacob hobbled back to the driver’s side and climbed in.
I hadn’t noticed her leave but Steph had spotted a car on the other side of the tree. The driver was June Trapnell, the fifth-grade teacher from Cider Hill Primary and Steph grabbed the opportunity. She climbed a fence on the side of the road, rounded the big gum tree then climbed the fence on the other side of it. As Jacob was starting to crank the truck over, I heard my name being called somewhere from the other side of the tree. I peered over the branches and saw Steph yelling my name, madly waving her arms.
I followed the path Steph took, ripping my jacket on the barbed wire as I tried to climb through, then hurried toward the two women looking at me.
“Jim, this is June. She’s offered to drive us to the prison,” she said as I neared them. She seemed more than impatient as she held the door open for me.
“Wait, the prison? Why the pr-” I began, but she slammed the door closed before I could finish. I was getting ready to ask her again as she climbed in but she spoke first.
“Jim, they’re letting him go,” she said, as June climbed in and fired the engine up.
“WHAT?” was all I could ask, my mind bursting with shock.
“It’s been all over the radio, and the morning paper had it on the front page,” June said as she sprayed gravel behind us, the tyres squealing a little as she turned the car around.
“Why would they let him go?” I asked.
“The lawyer, some guy named Lovett had sent a letter to a judge in Melbourne and that judge showed it to a bunch of other judges,” June said, trying to convey what little information she had.
“DAM IT!” I screamed, punching my arm on the door. “I’m sorry,” I said to June, my face burning, unsure of whether I was embarrassed at hitting her car, or angry at what was about to happen. “Did they happen to mention a time?” I asked.
“The radio said 10 o’clock this morning.” She gripped the wheel tightly as she sped us along, her Mini rattling and bouncing with each pot hole it hit. Steph lent in to look at June’s wristwatch.
“It’s 9.24. Should only take 10 minutes to get there. Let’s hope,” Steph said. I was considering stopping at one of the farm houses we were passing but then more thoughts jumped out. Not everyone had a phone and what if we chose one that didn’t. We’d be wasting more time. And what if it did work, who would we call? The new Chief? Even if we could convince him over the phone, which I doubted considering our lack of history, then he would still need to make the call to the prison. And if we called the prison
