“I see. And how exactly was your hand forced, Chief Inspector?”
“Well, out of precaution I had sent a scout ahead, to see what lay beyond the hills. He returned and reported an entire tribeof natives, hundreds of them, a veritable horde”—gasps from the crowd—“and I knew that if we tarried we would be overrun. They must surely have heard the gunfire. Our windowof escape was short. Under cover of the closing darkness, we rode for the safety of home.”
No, Katherine thought, it wasn’t that quick. They were gone far longer than just a few days. Tommy had been injured, he’dlost two fingers, and they’d taken some women captive, she was sure. Tommy had tried to free one, for himself, supposedlyas a housegirl, and when she’d heard of the plan Katherine had been horrified.
“And that was the end of the matter? You came straight back?”
“We did. Luckily, we were not caught by the tribe. We recuperated a short while at Broken Ridge, injuries were attended to,food and drink were imbibed, a little too much by some perhaps—this was the time, as you will all no doubt remember, whenRaymond Locke and John Sullivan had their fateful altercation, and I was once again forced to intervene.”
Heads hung in the gallery, crosses were carved in the air. Katherine felt her chest tighten: a memory of sitting in one ofthe wingbacks, watching her husband die.
MacIntyre said, “Aye, a terrible tragedy, and not one we need get into today. But as far as you were concerned, Chief Inspector,that was the McBride case closed?”
“Yes, although I took no satisfaction from it. Killing suspects is never the aim. But we must remember that back then, only twelve years ago, our colony was a very different place to the one we enjoy today. The natives were still warmongering. They would fight unto the death. At any time, Joseph could have surrendered and submitted himself to the rigors of the British justice system, but he did not. He was guilty, he knew he was guilty, and would rather die than stand trial. He was a coward, ultimately: this was little more than suicide at our hands.”
Silence lingered. Somber eyes watching him; much nodding of heads. Quietly, respectfully, MacIntyre asked, “You are aware,no doubt, of the allegations made by Reverend Bean, namely that the entire Kurrong tribe was killed at your hand, in somecrater far out in the bush. What do you say to that?”
The sloping walls around him, littered with horse-trampled men, Billy terrified in the chaos, turning circles with his revolver, picking them off as they fled, lost in the roar of the slaughter and the drumbeat of blood in his veins.
“Pure fabrication,” Noone answered quickly. “Of course, it is a difficult charge to answer when the man making it isn’t here.I have not read the reverend’s so-called testimony, I do not know the specifics of what he alleges. Nonetheless, I deny it,all of it—other than my lookout seeing them, we had no contact whatsoever with the larger tribe. Let me also say this. Wewere a group of nine only: myself and four native troopers, plus two farmers and two young boys. Nine, against how many isit alleged? Hundreds? At least half of whom would no doubt have been seasoned warriors. To anyone with even the slightestexperience of combat, those are frankly laughable odds.”
“I had to ask, Chief Inspector. I’m sure you understand.”
Noone addressed the gallery: “I do, unfortunately, for the sad fact is, ladies and gentlemen, this is not an uncommon allegation for a Native Police officer to face, even now, when the force is all but gone. We remain the easiest of targets, as indeed we always were, scapegoats for the more liberal conscience of our fellow citizens on the coast. Over the years so much baseless rumor and gossip has been slung that an element was bound to stick. We acquired a reputation, through no fault of our own. Wrongdoing—against myself or any other officer—has hardly ever been proved, and in those few cases when it has, our disciplinary procedures are effective and swift. But there is rarely any evidence. As is the case today. The nature of our work exposed us to the gravest of dangers, on your behalf, and yet now on the whim of some madman I am forced to sit here and justify myself over events that occurred twelve years ago. I would remind you, Magistrate MacIntyre, and the ladies and gentlemen of this fine town, that the only reason I came to Bewley in the first place was that a family had been slaughtered and two young brothers needed my help. Which I gave, willingly, as I would have done if it were any of your loved ones who had been killed. The whole purpose of the Native Police was the protection of vulnerable communities such as this, honest hardworking families out here at the vanguard of colonial settlement, building a life from the dust. And we did so. We protected you. You might not have always been aware of us, for the work went on unseen, but now that there is peace in the colony, now that your little town is safe, I find myself in the dock answering fabricated charges about fictional crimes based on the testimony of a drunk ex-missionary who has fled. It is an unconscionable allegation. My very presence here is an affront. To the police force, to myself personally, to the lives that in service to this colony, this town, that in your own names were once lost.”
Lives lost in your own name—the words landed on Billy like a stone.
Chapter 24
Inquest
Noone settled back in his chair, shrugged down his jacket, straightened his cuffs; cheeks flushed, eyes afire, scanning thebashful crowd. From the lobby there came a cry of “Hear, hear!” that was met
