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5.That severe bushfires were burning on and around the Aberfoyle track, the Mt Tumbler-Mt Octopus Road, Wild Goat Track and to the south of Pink Mountain, which had the effect of isolating the Christie property, and that this information was known to BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE.
6.That both deceased met their deaths EITHER as a result of bushfire consuming the Christie residence, during which both were terribly burnt, and that BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE believing their injuries to be mortal and unable to bear their suffering, and knowing also that medical aid was beyond immediate reach, killed both deceased with single shots to the head from a rifle owned by BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE; and that is the testimony of BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE.
OR that both deceased were wilfully and feloniously murdered by BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE with the aforesaid rifle, and the bodies deliberately burned in an attempt to conceal the facts of the case.
7.That medical science ca
8.That police inquiries have been unable to locate any other persons with evidence bearing upon the deaths of IMOGEN MARY CHRISTIE or ALFRED BERTRAM CHRISTIE, and that is the testimony of Constable FREDERICK JOHN WHYKES of the Police Station, Mt Tumbler.
9.That on the evidence before me I am unable to make any further findings as to the ma
RECOMMENDED:
1.That urgent consideration be given to the provision of medical services at Mt Tumbler.
2.That the Director of Public Prosecutions lays an information of WILFUL AND FELONIOUS MURDER against BERTRAM HUBERT SEXTON CHRISTIE.
Signed by the hand of me, HAROLD AMORY DOUGLAS BATTY, in the Mt Tumbler Magistrate’s Court this day, the 18th of April.
Chapter Sixteen
There were two other documents in the box.
One was a letter from Imogen Christie’s mother. She wrote:
Dear Mr Christie, (‘“Mr Christie!”’ Lee commented; and I said, ‘Well, they were very formal in those days.’) I am in receipt of your letter of November 12. Indeed your position is a difficult one. As you know I have always stood by you and defended your account of the dreadful deaths of my dear daughter and my dear grandson, as being the only possible true one, and I have always believed and devoutly prayed it so to be. And I rejoiced, as you know, when the jury pronounced you i
Imogen Emma Eakin
The last thing was a poem, a simple poem:
In this life of froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone.
Kindness in another’s trouble,
Courage in your own.
When we’d read that, Lee silently wrapped everything up again and replaced it in the tin. It didn’t surprise me when he put the tin back in the cavity and dropped the windowsill on top of it. I knew that we weren’t necessarily leaving it there forever, to decay into fragments and then dust, but at the moment there was too much to absorb, too much to think about. We left the hut silently, and we left it to its silence.
Half way back along the creek I turned to face Lee, who was splashing along behind me. It was about the only spot in the cool tu
‘That coroner’s report,’ I said to Lee.
‘Yes?’
‘We were talking about reason and emotion.’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you ever known emotion dealt with so coldly as in that report?’
‘No, I don’t think I have.’
I turned more, so that I could nuzzle into his chest, and I whispered, ‘I don’t want to end up like a coroner’s report.’
‘No.’ He stroked my hair, then felt up under it and squeezed the back of my neck softly, like a massage. After a few minutes more he said, ‘Let’s get out of this creek. I’m freezing by slow degrees. It’s up to my knees and rising.’
I giggled. ‘Let’s go quickly then. I wouldn’t like it to get any higher.’
Back in the clearing it was obvious that something had happened between Homer and Fi. Homer was sitting against a tree with Fi curled up against him. Homer was looking out across the clearing to where one of Satan’s Steps loomed high in the distance. They weren’t talking and when we arrived they got up and wandered over, Homer a little self-consciously, Fi quite naturally. But as I watched them a little during the rest of the afternoon – not spying, just with curiosity to see what they were like – I felt that they were different to us. They seemed more nervous with each other, a bit like twelve-year-olds on their first date.
Fi explained it to me when we managed to sneak off on our own for a quick goss.
‘He’s so down on himself,’ she complained. ‘Everything I say about him he brushes off or puts himself down. Do you know,’ she looked at me with her big i
‘Oh Fi! How long did it take you to work that out?’
‘Why? Has he said something to you?’ She instantly became terribly worried, in her typical Fi way. I was a bit caught, because I wanted to protect Homer and I didn’t want to break any confidences. So I tried to give a few hints.
‘Well, your lifestyle’s a lot different to his. And you know the kind of blokes he’s always knocked around with at school. They’d be more at home hanging out at the milk bar than playing croquet with your parents.’
‘My parents do not play croquet.’
‘No, but you know what I mean.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what to do. He seems scared to say anything in case I laugh at him or look down my nose at him. As if I ever would. It seems so fu
I sighed. ‘If I could understand Homer I’d understand all guys.’
It was getting dark and we had to start organising for a big night, starting with another hike up Satan’s Steps. I was tired and not very keen to go, especially as Lee wouldn’t be able to come. His leg was still stiff and sore. When the time came I trudged off behind Homer and Fi, too weak to complain – I thought I’d feel guilty if I did. But gradually the sweetness of the night air revived me. I began to breathe it in more deeply, and to notice the silent mountains standing gravely around. The place was beautiful, I was with my friends and they were good people, we were coping OK with tough circumstances. There were a lot of things to be unhappy about, but somehow the papers I’d read in the Hermit’s hut, and the long beautiful kiss with Lee, had given me a better perspective on life. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I tried to enjoy it while it did.