37. The Nimble Debater; and A Fair State Of Huff
After losing our tormentors we went straight to the presbytery. Father O’Long and Brother SanSistez were outside by the Holden ute, discussing what course of action to take in respect of our non-appearance at the bridge. They were certainly relieved to see us and more than a little surprised at the nature of our transport.
After a quick debriefing Father decided that any analysis of the expedition’s shortcomings could wait. It was more important to settle the issues connected with our recovery of the car, he said. We were all invited inside, where an equally relieved Mrs Finnegan was finally able to serve dinner. (She’d seen us arrive and had set extra places.)
Before sitting down Father rang Sergeant Bourke, who got himself out to the school in an amazingly short space of time – i.e., just after desserts.
And if we ever imagined he’d be pleased that our adventure worked out with the recovery of his car we were mistaken. In fact he arrived at the presbytery in such a state of rage that he was nearly incoherent.
I believe this even took Father by surprise, for he deflected the sergeant into a side room and spent a good ten minutes calming him down – in the relative sense, at least.
We, however, were well prepared. After throwing off our pursuers we had parked briefly at the side of the road, there to discuss our official presentation, its manner and its wording.
We’d decided, too, that inasmuch as Doogle had been the one to find and identify the car (as well as being the driver), it was only natural he should be our spokesman. The fact that he happened also to be the quickest-thinking fastest-talking debater in the school was but a happy coincidence. No one, including Father O’Long, had ever actually argued him into a corner.
Responsibility for any decision or act we agreed to shoulder jointly. And, to avoid confusion when being questioned, we would all support Doogle’s version of events. Any reference to the chase or estimates of speed were to be kept to an absolute minimum and couched in vague or reassuring terms.
The foremost thing in our minds, we would argue (besides the pressing need to let Father know we were safe and sound), was the careful and rightful return of the sergeant’s stolen car.
Sergeant Bourke could then put aside the anguish of its loss and set about apprehending the thieves. Naturally (not knowing about their predicament), we would encourage him to move quickly on the Old Tobacco Farm.
Right or wrong the sergeant wanted to question us one at a time, but Father was having none of it. Instead he insisted on it being a joint interview at which he would be present. Doogle should be our spokesman, he said – as if he’d picked him at random, but Father was well aware of Doogle’s way with words.
In any case, he was the one who’d actually found the car. And Sergeant Bourke knew Father O’Long well enough to realise it was hopeless for him to argue otherwise.
The one matter of which he’d convinced himself, however – the point he was utterly certain of – was that one or a number or all of us were somehow involved in his car’s actual theft. He hinted darkly at rumours of a previous alleged escapade, too; one which may have involved the unauthorised use of a school motor vehicle by pupil or pupils unknown. I stole a quick glance in Father’s direction at mention of this but his expression didn’t change.
But the real problem for Sergeant Bourke was his not believing we’d simply stumbled onto the car – even given the rafting expedition and its (allegedly) untimely end. Neither did he believe there were others in another car who had attempted to “follow” us – as Doogle so carefully put it. And, in particular, he could not accept that Doogle somehow knew and could instantly recognise his car’s number plate.
This last item was the real sticking point for Sergeant Bourke. It was the key to the whole business, the very thing which he was just not prepared to believe.
“Oh yeah,” he growled. “So before today, how many times would you have seen my new Holden?”
“Only once, Sergeant Bourke, in Ingham.”
“And for how long would you have gazed on its graceful form?”
“Well, just for a few seconds ... as you drove by.”
“And, after watching me drive by in my beautiful new car, you are able – on demand – to recall the exact number of the registration?”
“Yes Sarge.”
“That’s Sergeant Bourke, thank you. What then is its registration number?”
“401-NAB, Sergeant Bourke.”
“And do you remember the registration number of every car you see go past?”
“No sir, course not.”
“So why then should you remember mine.”
“Can I ask you a question, Sergeant Bourke?”
“You mean can you ask me another question? All right then, if it in any way clarifies the issue. What?”
“With respect sir, do you know your rego number?”
“Of course I do.”
“No Sarge ... Sergeant. What I’m trying to say is, do you know what it means?”
“It doesn’t mean anything except that my car is registered, so what fool thing are you talking about? Now then...”
“No, wait up Sarge. Don’t you know what it really means?”
“Apart from it being the registration number of my car, no. And I couldn’t care less if it’s a secret formula for the atom bomb. Now getting back to...”
“But listen Sarge. Someone in the registration section has played a trick on you. Your number plate says, ‘For nothing I nab’. I mean it’s ... just a weak joke, really. But that’s how I remembered it after seeing it only once.”
He stared at Doogle in amazement. “Four Nought One N-A-B...” he muttered to himself as he thought it over. “For - nothing - I - nab.”
Slowly the permanent scowl on his face began to crack and, for the first time in the recorded history of North Queensland, Sergeant Bourke took a deep breath and let forth a really good belly-laugh.
Father O’Long and we boys joined in wholeheartedly, glad of some relief from the tension.
“For nothing I nab,” he said over and over as he shook with laughter (and there was plenty of him to shake). “For nothing I nab. Haw haw haw haw haw!”
Then he stopped abruptly. “I’ll bloody kill ‘em!” he barked in mock seriousness.
From that moment on the terrible hostility in the air was gone. “Righto boys,” he said in a much more agreeable manner. “Tell me again how it all happened.
We can... No, wait! First I’ll ring the station if I might, please Father. We’ll get a patrol car out to the Old Tobacco Farm as soon as we can. You never know, there could still be someone there, though we have wasted a fair bit of time.”
...Which, Father explained to us later, was Sergeant Bourke’s way of apologising.
That wasn’t the end of it, though. The two men picked up trying to get a lift into Ingham were also questioned and he was back in the paddy-wagon the next morning.
The sergeant was particularly interested in having a look over the car they’d been driving (which was still in the canefield) and to visit a certain place along the road where our turnings-off had occurred.
There wasn’t room for the four of us in the front, so he asked Rocky to show him the way and ushered the remainder of us into the lock-up cage on the back. I’m sure he did this with a fair element of satisfaction, too, for after he’d slammed the door he patted his pockets as if he’d lost something.
“Oh hell!” he grumbled. “I think I’ve left the keys back at the station. Well, never mind, we should be finished in two or three hours.”
Apparently Sergeant Bourke had become suspicious about the differing accounts given of the trip from the farm to the school, mainly because our pursuers’ versions contained certain lurid elements not evident in our own. In particular he wanted to have a look at where we’d left the road and turned into the canefields.
After he’d checked the upside-down Ford briefly Rocky directed him back out on to wher
e we’d made our escape, where (much to our relief) he opened the door and let us out – the business about leaving the keys at the station just being his little joke.
What we discovered there was a truly dramatic set of tyre tracks. They were broad and complex and difficult to interpret – slewing down from the gravel road, as they did, then across the slashed verge and into the narrow headland.
One thing, however, was manifestly clear. The car or cars which made these tyre marks had been travelling sideways essentially. At considerable speed.
“Now then…” rumbled the sergeant in a not too unfriendly way, “I want you to explain to me why it seems as if there are more tyre marks here than could be made by just the one car? ...that is to presume, the one driven by your pursuers. I’ve had a good look over my car and it’s obvious it wasn’t you that side-swiped the cane – which is just as well for you.”
“Righto Sarge,” said Doogle brightly. “See, Sash was in the back keepin’ a lookout behind ‘cos we were worried about ‘em following us. When he seen ‘em boring up behind without any lights I sped up a bit, in case they were gunna ram us – on purpose perhaps, or even by accident.
“Anyway, like I said before, I thought the best thing to do was turn off into one of the headlands as soon as I could. When I saw where I wanted to go I hit the brakes and turned in. But the gravel on the side was looser than I expected. When I pulled her ‘round the back wheels slid out a bit, ay.
“But she come back quick when I corrected. Gees it handles good. An’ gees! When them blokes hit the corner they must have been half out of control. I didn’t think they’d even try it. How they ever made it around I’ll never know, the speed they were goin’.”
“So ... how could you tell what speed they were going, if they had their lights off and you were driving so carefully?”
“I didn’t see ‘em Sarge; Sash did. He told me how quick they were comin’ up and was watchin’ t’ see if they went straight past or not, then what happened when they switched on their lights and turned.”
“Yeah Sarge! They done the biggest broggy, ay. Then they really lost it and whammed sideways into the cane!”
The sergeant gave us a long hard look then suddenly changed the subject. “What do you think of my new car?”
“She’s a beauty Sarge yeah great yeah gees she rides like a dream ay yeah handles real sweet too looks triffic ay,” we answered all at once.
He watched us closely. “Did you open her up at all? ...it does have a bit of power you know.”
Doogle’s face was a picture of transparent frankness. “Gosh Sarge. We started hurryin’ a bit when we woke up that they were followin’ us (in the event a breathtaking understatement), but I was a bit worried about the car ‘cos I thought you might be still running it in.”
“That’s interesting,” rumbled the sergeant. “Both Trigg and Watson said they were travelling at extremely high speed but were unable to catch you.”
“Course not, Sarge. You should’ve seen ‘em, ay. First they stalled their car turning it around...”
“After you’d passed them at high speed.”
“They were the ones who were travelling! I’d dropped back to second for that corner near the farm. When we came out of it they flew past just as I changed back to top – so quick we hardly even got a look at ‘em.”
“…I see. —All right then, so tell me again what happened when you got to the junction.”
“Well, first we went real slow for about the last hundred yards, so as not to leave any dust or tracks they could follow. Just then a car went flyin’ along the road to Ingham, makin’ a fair bit of dust, too. Course we turned toward the school, Sarge, but I kept driving on the side for a while so as not to make any dust. When the Ford got to the corner Sash saw it turn and follow the other car.”
“Yeah, Sarge. I seen their lights. They turned and followed the dust.”
“Trigg and Watson said they only went a mile or so in that direction then realised you’d gone the other way and turned around. After that they drove at high speed but claimed to have had difficulty catching you.”
“Well course they did, Sarge. You think about it. We were maybe half a mile up the road from the junction when they reached there. They stopped, turned our way a bit, stopped again, then swung around and drove off towards Ingham. They never saw us cos we were drivin’ with the lights off. And we weren’t goin’ too fast because it was dark, ay, even with the moon shinin’. It was only when we got around the first corner that we switched on the lights and got goin’ a bit.
“And what have they been doin’? Thinkin’ about turning around, maybe, and goin’ back the other way. And while all this is goin’ on we’ve been scootin’ up the road toward the school. So how far ahead of ‘em are we now? Two and a half, maybe three miles. At least.
“I mean gees, Sarge; don’t get me wrong. We weren’t dawdling. We didn’t want to tangle with ‘em, ay.
“But look. If you see a car goin in the opposite direction and you want to pull it over, how far do you have to chase it after you turn around? A fair distance, ay. Even if it’s not goin’ over the limit and you’re goin flat out.
“And they were tryin’ to catch up to us by drivin’ with their lights off. So were they really goin’ fast? ...or did it just seem that way ‘cos it was dark.”
“So how fast were you going?”
“Gees, I dunno Sarge, I never looked. All I could think about was gettin’ your new Holden back to school an’ ringin’ you up.” (A good closing statement, I thought.)
“And I have to thank you for that,” Sergeant Bourke said in a resigned sort of way. “But I must say, I still find the whole business a bit puzzling. Here you are claiming you were having a quiet Sunday evening drive in my new car and bringing it back from the Old Tobacco Farm...”
“That’s right, Sarge.”
“...And there’s Trigg and Watson saying they were floggin’ the guts out of this stolen Customline and belting along like there was no tomorrow and they still couldn’t catch you.”
“Gees, Sarge. That’s not right. They did catch us, just here where we turned; they were right behind us.”
Sergeant Bourke gave Doogle a long hard look. I was waiting for him to put the next question when a change seemed to come over him, as if some highly uncomfortable thoughts were being set firmly aside.
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “…All right then, so they did catch up to you. We’ll leave it at that. I guess the main thing is that thanks to you four boys I now have my car back again, and all in one piece.
“But listen here, young Douglas Glass; how about doing me a favour. When you take up Law, how about going off to Perth or Tasmania or somewhere, eh? Now get yourselves back into the wagon so I can get rid of y’se.”
Back at the school Sergeant Bourke stopped in front of the dormitory amid the shouts and jeers of our schoolmates. The merriment was quickly silenced when he went to the rear of the paddy wagon. “This is what you ratbags can expect when y’s start playing up!” he barked before letting us out. “And guess which happy police sergeant is looking forward to doing it!” Back in the driver’s seat he slammed the door angrily and drove away.
“Hey Doogle,” Rocky said as we watched him go. “What did he mean about ‘takin’ up Law’? Will you be takin’ up Law?!!”
“Never heard of it,” replied Doogle. “But what you have to understand, Rocky, is that our Sergeant Bourke really came back today to say thank you, only for Bourkie, saying ‘Thank you’ would have been the hardest thing in the world.
“See he already knew the answers to most of what he asked us and he’s got a fair idea about what happened yesterday with his new Holden. He’s not too happy about it of course and he doesn’t know anything for sure, but we recovered the car undamaged so he can’t really complain.
“The fact is, old Bourkie could never just roll up here and say, ‘I thought I should come back out to Gower Abbey and thank you
boys properly for finding me car and bringin’ it back’. Instead he’s got to cover it up by askin’ lots of questions he already knows the answers to then slipping in his thank you so it doesn’t show up too much.
“The important thing for us, though, was not having to tell any lies. One or two of our answers might have been clouded slightly but we didn’t have to tell any lies.”
“Thank you, M’lud.”