The Story of Danny Dunn (51 page)

‘My old man phoned.' Franz pointed to the newspaper. ‘He's read about the fire – I've talked to him about your neighbourhood troubles.' He smiled. ‘When I told him about Bullnose and Sammy, he said it's essential to have pictures of the body that you've taken yourself, and also of the site of the fire.'

‘Hey, c'mon, mate! This isn't Nazi Germany,' Danny protested.

‘But it's nevertheless sensible advice. You didn't know my dad was a journalist in Austria, did you? One of the reasons we left was because the Nazis outlawed Jewish journalists. He was also part of the left-wing intelligentsia, not a good combination at the time. He's seen sufficient exploitation of the poor to last him a lifetime. What's happening in those boarding houses isn't unique or new. By the way, his area was crime investigation and, as he put it to me, “Already when you got a picture of the crime scene, it doesn't tell lies in the court like the advocate.”'

Danny laughed. ‘I don't think they go in for body tampering much at the Sydney City Morgue. But I agree about the site of the fire. Good point.'

‘Leave it to me, but we'll have to hurry. If the police didn't cordon off the site last night, we'll be able to get a good look at the building before anyone gets in and removes any suspicious evidence.'

‘We've got a qualified insurance assessor on the books, haven't we?'

‘Not an assessor – no such animal – an insurance loss adjustor,' Franz corrected. ‘Bob James. He's so naturally suspicious it wouldn't surprise me if he made his wife taste his dinner before he ate it. Works for all the big insurance companies. We used him on that big warehouse fire last year when we were representing the NSW Insurance Company.'

‘Can you get this James bloke out in a hurry?'

‘If he's not interstate. He gets his bratwurst from my mum. She always makes him a special batch – more caraway seeds, or something. It might be as well to accompany him.'

Danny gave him a sceptical look but said nothing.

‘My dad's advice again, mate. But didn't you say Bullnose yelled out “meter board” when he was lying on the pavement? If the meter board hasn't been totally destroyed, we need a picture of it, the barred windows, the back door, the bedroom partitions, wiring details . . .'

Danny sighed then rubbed his eyes. ‘And
I'm
supposed to be the criminal lawyer! I guess I'm not thinking straight; long night. You're dead right about the fire scene, and the pictures in the morgue can't hurt. Please thank your dad. Tell him we're grateful his instinctive distrust as a journo is still in fine working order.'

Franz laughed. ‘He's given me the same advice – “take before-and-after pictures of a property; you'd be amazed at what goes missing between the auction and settlement”. By the way, do you know anyone at the Balmain Police Station, in case we have any problems getting onto the site?'

‘Sure do. I was a foundation member of the Balmain Police Boys Club as a nipper and I'm on the board of governors. Larry Miller is the sergeant in charge of the cop station as well as the club.' Danny picked up the phone. ‘I'll give him a call. You call your insurance bloke, find out when we can go out. Have you got your camera here?'

‘Not
we
,
I'll
go with Bob! If you're going to be representing Sammy at the inquest, it's not such a bad idea to keep
schtum
for the time being. Anyway, you were probably recognised last night, but that's easily explained, since you live up the street. On the other hand, you don't want to be seen snooping around, digging among the ashes with a camera.'

‘What are you doing as a conveyancing solicitor? You'd have been a damn good criminal lawyer,' Danny grinned.

‘If that's a compliment, thank you. I hope to justify my parents' faith in me and end up a rich man instead.'

Franz went to his office to contact the insurance bloke, and Danny dialled the morgue and then the Balmain police. He got through to Sergeant Miller, who assured him that the insurance loss adjustor and his assistant would be allowed to inspect the site of the fire. ‘Oh, Larry, mate, do me a favour. Just log that a fire insurance adjustor called Bob James phoned and asked if he and his photographer could visit the site.'

‘Sure, Danny, no problem. Glad you're onto it. Can o' worms, that whole street.'

Franz popped his head around the door. ‘Okay, Bob James is free, so I'm off.'

‘Mortuary, three o'clock. Will you be back in time?' Danny asked.

‘I'll meet you there!' Franz replied.

Helen and Danny arrived at St Vincent's at precisely six that evening, after Danny had performed his last duty for poor Sammy Laidlaw – sadly identifying his old friend. They found Bullnose sufficiently recovered to be moved out of Emergency into a men's ward in the general part of the hospital. Had the duty nurse not led them to his bed they would have had no way of recognising him; his head was swathed in bandages with only a slit for his mouth and another for his eyes. ‘I've seen Egyptian mummies with fewer bandages on their heads,' Helen laughed softly, bending down and gently kissing his swaddled forehead.

‘Gidday, old fella!' Danny called, trying to sound cheerful. ‘If you can't talk, just nod your head.'

‘I can talk,' Bullnose said slowly, ‘I musta had me hand over me mouth and nose to keep out the smoke when the meter board zapped Sammy and the flash got me face.' He withdrew his right hand from under the blanket to show the bandage. ‘Yer gunna go after them mongrels, ain't ya, Danny?'

‘Yeah,' Danny said quietly. ‘Yeah, I'm going to do that, Bullnose.'

‘Sammy . . . he wouldn't wanna die fer nuthin'.'

‘I know, Bullnose. We can talk about it when you're a little better.'

‘Gabrielle picked these roses for you and Samantha bought you a lollipop,' Helen said softly. ‘She chose a raspberry flavour and assured me it was your favourite. When I asked her how she knew, she said, “Easy, because it's mine.” Come to think of it, in your bandaged condition a lollipop on a stick is a very practical choice.' Helen placed the roses on the metal cabinet beside the bed. ‘I'll see if I can find a vase.'

After she'd left, Danny took the chair beside the old man's bed. ‘Have the police been to see you yet?' he asked.

‘Nah, youse're the first. Nurse says they usually leave it a day unless you're about to cark it.'

‘Okay, but understand that it won't be the Balmain mob – Larry Miller and the boys you know from football – so I want you to listen to me carefully, Bullnose. Tell the truth, but
only
answer their questions, understand?
Don't
volunteer any information.'

Bullnose nodded. ‘But if they ask me exactly what happened, t'explain like?'

‘Trust me, they won't. But now listen, mate, I want you to remember every question they ask, in the order they ask them. They may even try to verbal you. I don't think so, but they might. Everything they ask and say, even among themselves, as well as your answers. Do you think you can do that?'

Bullnose made a small disgusted sound in his throat. ‘You know me, Danny. Memory like an elephant.'

‘Remember, tell the truth, but
don't
volunteer anything on your own. If anything, play dumb, okay?'

‘I am dumb, Danny,' Bullnose said quietly. ‘Sammy were the smart one.' His eyes welled with sudden tears. ‘We's bin mates sixty-three years, since I was six and he were seven. We done Gallipoli and then Flanders, Ypres, Passchendaele. It were a Frenchy sheila taught him t'massage first, then he done a course when we come back and worked as a masseur for a few years. He was gunna be a physiotherapist. He was that clever, he done one year, passed an' all, then the Depression come and he couldn't go on with it. I done bricklayin' and he done that.' Bullnose dabbed at his brimming eyes with a bandaged hand. ‘I'm sorry, Danny . . . fuckin' meter board. I told him t'leave it be – we would'a got outta there safe. Silly bugger wanted t'save them people screamin' out the back, and —' He started to sob.

Helen returned holding a vase and saw immediately how upset he was. Placing it carefully on the metal cabinet, she set about arranging the roses, deliberately making small talk while the old man collected himself. ‘Gabrielle came racing home from swimming training this afternoon, terrified she wouldn't have time to pick these . . . Pink because she's a girl and yellow because it's your favourite, she said . . . Samantha says if you don't like the lollipop to give it back, but she knows you won't because its raspberry . . . but if you don't,
really
don't like it, she'll ask her grandma to give her one of those Anzac biscuits she knows you like.'

Bullnose had recovered sufficiently to give Helen a wan smile. ‘You tell 'em both thanks, Helen. Tell Gabby, thank you for the pink and yella roses – they're bonza! Ask Sam how did she know that raspberry is my favourite. Tell 'em I'll soon be back, but they gotta look after the garden for me in the meantime and not forget to turn the compost heap. They won't like that.' He laughed. ‘Gabby says it's where the flowers go to poo and Sam asked why do we let them poo in our backyard? That little scallywag, Sam.' Bullnose chuckled. ‘She told Sammy he could have one of her gold medals to wear around his neck 'cos she won't be able to wear them all after the 1968 Olympics, but
only
if he lets her use the Victa lawnmower
now
.'

Danny shook his head and smiled indulgently. ‘She's a worry all right.'

The ward sister entered, white on white on white, all of it somehow starched and angled; even her nose seemed sharp on her stern face. Clearly nothing had changed in hospitals since the twins were born, certainly not the bossy attitude of the nursing staff. ‘I'm afraid you'll have to go now. It's time to change the patient's dressings. Say goodnight to your guests, please . . .' she checked the clipboard at the end of the bed, adding, ‘Mr Daintree.'

On the pavement outside the hospital, walking to where they'd parked the car, Danny suddenly stopped and turned to Helen. ‘Darling, Primo's is only a few minutes' drive from here. What say we have dinner in town? Brenda won't mind putting the kids to bed, and we'll be home before ten.' He pointed. ‘Look, there's a phone box, a sign that we should. We can call Mum now.'

‘Darling, that would be lovely, but you must be exhausted after last night. Are you sure?'

‘Hey, look who's talking. You've been up just as long as I have.'

‘No, I cheated. I went to bed after you left for the office and then only had to go in for one lecture this afternoon, first-year students, simple stuff I can do in my sleep.'

‘I can sleep tonight,' Danny said, ‘and we won't be late. I want to make it up to you for being such a shit last night. Dinner at Primo's will, I hope, be a reasonable start to an apology. What say?'

‘Oh, sweetheart, I'd love to. But I'm not really dressed for it and we don't have a booking.'

Danny grinned. ‘I'll greet the maître d' with the “universal handshake”, as Franz's dad calls it.'

‘What if it doesn't work?'

‘In that case, we'll be witnessing a genuine miracle. We meet all the requirements: we're sober, you're beautiful, I'm wearing a suit and tie, and we're both Caucasian.' Danny paused. ‘Most importantly, a magic quid will have been transferred from one palm to another.'

‘And I left my good lippy at home,' Helen moaned.

When the date of the inquest was announced, Danny immediately dictated a letter to Keri Light, the new legal secretary he shared with Franz, addressed to the coroner's office seeking leave to appear on behalf of Mr Bullmore Nosbert Daintree. Both these unfortunate Christian names had quickly been converted in the schoolyard to Bullnose, the moniker that had served him well for almost seventy years.

A week later Keri, sitting at the front desk while Amanda, the receptionist, was at lunch, called through to say, ‘Mr Dunn, I don't know if this is a joke, but a Mr
Lawless
, who says he's from the attorney-general's office, is on the phone.'

‘Yeah, that's right. Put him on.' He heard Keri giggle before she made the transfer. ‘Good afternoon, Nick. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?'

Nick Lawless was an outspoken civil servant, regarded by some lawyers as a man who often abused his position. He'd served under five state Labor ministers and there were those among the legal profession who believed he regarded himself as the de facto attorney-general. Danny reasoned that, blessed or cursed with such a surname, he was more or less forced to prove himself, and they'd always had a cordial, if not chummy, relationship.

‘Danny, what's this I see? You're listed as appearing for one of the victims in the Balmain boarding-house fire? I thought battered wives and kids were more your thing . . .'