Solomon's Song Read online

  In his coroner’s report Mr Noyes stated that the head of the deceased had been removed by an instrument thought to be an axe with the blade prepared to a razor-sharp edge.

  Senior Detective O’Reilly stated in evidence that, as the victim had not been robbed of his wallet, or his gold watch and chain, he appeared to be the victim of an execution-style murder.

  The coroner, well known for his acerbic wit, remarked that in his experience on the bench he had not yet heard of a suicide where the deceased had entirely removed his own head with an axe. He hoped the senior detective might in future restrict himself to any information which might be useful to the constabulary in their efforts to solve the case.

  The senior detective then stated that the murder may have taken place on board a ship at sea. However, the more likely conclusion was that the head had been removed from the body and the body taken outside the Sydney Heads and dumped at sea.

  ‘I would be most surprised if the head isn’t buried deep somewhere ashore, Detective O’Reilly,’ Mr Noyes opined.

  The detective sighed audibly. ‘Yes, your honour, we are most grateful for your opinion,’ though what he really thought of the coroner’s gratuitous insight this correspondent dares not even suppose.

  The coroner made a finding of murder by person or persons unknown and the court was adjourned.

  Asked outside the court who he thought might have done such a grisly execution Senior Detective O’Reilly stated, ‘Decapitation is not a common method of murder, but is known to be used among the celestials. Though I have not heard of it used against a white man before.’

  When it was pointed out that the victim, Mr Tommo Solomon, was a user of the opium poppy and well known in Chinatown, he refused to speculate further on the matter.

  ‘Our enquiry will determine soon enough what we need to know,’ he stated.

  ‘Did you know that the murder victim was a partner in a gaming syndicate run by the well-known “sportsman” Mr F. Artie Sparrow?’ he was then asked.

  ‘No,’ came the prompt and surprising reply.

  ‘Did you know he was a member of a regular illegal card game that was known to take place in Chinatown on the premises of Tang Wing Hung the Chinaman importer?’

  Not entirely surprising, his answer was ‘No’ again.

  Your correspondent then asked if the murder of Mr Solomon might be linked with the deaths on the premises of Mr Sparrow’s lodging of the boxing promoter known as Fat Fred and the prostitute Maggie Pye, the latter suffocating under the weight of the dead body of the former.

  Senior Detective O’Reilly replied that the coroner’s report on the state of decomposition of the victim’s body supported the theory that Mr Tommo Solomon might have been murdered at around the same time, but that it would be foolish to link the two incidents.

  He stressed that the coroner’s findings of the two previous deaths had been that Fat Fred, while involved in sexual intercourse, had died of a sudden and massive heart seizure and Miss Pye of asphyxia while trapped beneath his body.

  ‘We have no reason to suspect foul play.’ Senior Detective O’Reilly added, ‘We are hoping that Mr Sparrow will help the police with our enquiries but, as of this time, we have been unable to locate him. I ask anyone who knows of his present whereabouts to come forward.’

  The good detective was then asked if he thought it a mere coincidence that the murdered man was the twin brother of the professional pugilist Hawk Solomon who, in turn, was betrothed to the murdered prostitute, Maggie Pye?

  ‘All coincidences will be carefully examined,’ O’Reilly replied loftily.

  Your correspondent then asked if Senior Detective O’Reilly was aware that Mr Sparrow was also known to owe Mr Tang Wing Hung and Miss Mary Abacus, the mother of the adopted twins Tommo and Hawk Solomon, a considerable sum of money, this being their winnings from bets made on the prize fight between Mr Hawk Solomon and the Irish pugilist who goes under the sobriquet, The Lightning Bolt?

  Senior Detective O’Reilly declined to comment, but pointed out gratuitously that both barefist boxing and wagering on such contests are illegal in the colony of New South Wales and that no such claim, if true, would stand up in court.

  ‘Did this not then suggest a reason why Mr Sparrow might have “gone missing” and wasn’t it worthwhile following up the evidence of the lad known as Johnny Terrible, who stated that Mr Sparrow had sent a note to Maggie Pye suggesting she be the emissary between himself, Tang Wing Hung and Miss Mary Abacus?’

  ‘Sir, you are fully aware that the particular note found on the premises belonging to Maggie Pye was tabled and read out in court. It simply contained the words, Come and see me, my dear, and was signed by Mr Sparrow.’

  ‘And the evidence of the boy, Johnny Terrible?’

  ‘The magistrate chose not to take into consideration the boy’s evidence as he has been in trouble before and is known to lie under oath.’

  Senior Detective O’Reilly then looked at your correspondent with an expression suggesting some bemusement. ‘I find myself surprised at your questions, sir. Given the known occupation of the deceased woman, the magistrate, I believe, has correctly concluded that she was acquired by Mr Sparrow for the purposes usually associated with women of her profession. The note received by Maggie Pye can possess no other explanation,’ he concluded.

  Your correspondent then countered with the suggestion that it was common knowledge that Mr Sparrow was not known to favour the fairer sex and that his preferences lay, to put it in the kindest terms, ‘elsewhere’. Furthermore, it was a well-known joke among the Sydney lads employed by Mr Sparrow that Fat Fred was usually incapable of dalliance of any sort and that drink rendered him impotent.

  Senior Detective O’Reilly then said, ‘You are raking over old coals, sir,’ and declined to answer any more questions from your correspondent.

  Miss Mary Abacus and Mr Hawk Solomon, who had earlier visited the morgue to identify the body and later also attended the coroner’s hearing, declined to be interviewed by this correspondent, pleading that they be allowed the right to mourn the loss of a beloved son and brother.

  * * *

  Hawk stops off first at the Hero of Waterloo where Mary has her temporary lodgings, and together they go to the Pyrmont morgue to identify Tommo’s corpse. Here they are made to place a tincture of camphor oil to their nostrils to kill the unmistakeable odour of decaying flesh before they are taken into the morgue’s coldroom to examine the corpse which has been stripped of its clothing but, at the suggestion of Senior Detective O’Reilly, the Tiki remains with its leather thong about the tattered and truncated neck.

  A square of canvas has been neatly arranged over the top of the neck to conceal the absence of a head, though the Maori amulet can be clearly seen resting on the exposed chest three inches below the base of the neck. A second square of canvas in the form of a loincloth covers the private parts. Mary scarcely pauses to examine the body before confirming to Senior Detective O’Reilly that it is her adopted son, Tommo.

  She notices O’Reilly’s bemused and doubtful countenance at so quick an identification of a corpse, which, after all, lacks a head, the most common method of recognition. She points to a large mole high up on the left shoulder. ‘Born with it, big as sixpence, can’t mistake it, looks like a map of Tasmania,’ she states. Remembering her grief, her voice quavers slightly and she touches the corner of the small lace handkerchief to her right eye and then her left and returns it, perhaps a little too hastily, to cover her nose, for the stench rising from the body has even defeated the efficacy of the camphor oil.

  Hawk is hard put to contain his surprise for, almost at once, they have both seen that the naked body isn’t that of Tommo. Hawk’s twin has a small but distinctive birthmark on the calf of his left leg and no such mark can now be seen. Hawk bends down to examine the amulet and immediately sees what he is looking for, a small ‘M’ has been scratched into the surface of the green malachite. ‘The Tiki,’ he points to the amule
t. ‘That’s his, my brother’s.’ It was given to his twin by his Maori wife, who died in childbirth, and the ‘M’ scratched onto the surface is for her name ‘Makareta’.

  It is a certain sign to Hawk of Tommo’s efforts at deception and his determination to make the murder victim seem to be himself. Tommo would have thought long and hard before parting with the Tiki which he greatly cherished as his talisman, the equivalent in his own mind of Mary’s Waterloo medal. Then Hawk realises that it is a message to him, Tommo’s way of telling him that he is still in the world of the living.

  In fact, having received Johnny Terrible’s message that Tommo was going after Mr Sparrow, they have each silently concluded the corpse must belong to Ikey Solomon’s most accomplished graduate from the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers, the infamous Sparrow Fart, alias F. Artie Sparrow, the odious Mr Sparrow.

  Tommo has completed what he had vowed to do and avenged the death of Maggie Pye. The sudden tears Senior Detective O’Reilly now sees streaming unabashedly down the tattooed cheeks of the giant black man are not, as he supposes, for the grotesque corpse on the zinc tray, but for Maggie Pye and the love of his twin. They are also tears of relief that Tommo is still alive.

  Using the only currency he knows, this headless corpse lying on a slab of ice is Tommo’s payback for all the mongrels who have blighted his life. The ghastly manner of Mr Sparrow’s death is paradoxically also Tommo’s last gift of love to his brother. Hawk cannot help but think that the pressure on Tommo’s brain from the wound to his head has finally driven him insane. For this notion as well, he now weeps.

  O’Reilly brings his fist to his lips and clears his throat. ‘Hurrmph, er missus, if you’d be so kind as to turn yer back, a matter o’ some delicacy,’ he says, looking directly at Mary.

  Mary turns away from the corpse and the detective lifts the canvas loincloth and nods to Hawk. ‘It’s another common way o’ identification,’ he says abruptly, then supposing Mary can’t hear him, he whispers sotto voce to Hawk, ‘Pricks are like faces, every one’s different.’

  Hawk sees immediately that, unlike Tommo’s, the penis is not circumcised.

  ‘Well, what does you think?’ O’Reilly asks.

  Hawk sniffs and nods his head, but does not reply, not wishing to openly commit perjury. O’Reilly sighs and pulls the small canvas square back into place. ‘It’s all right to look now, missus,’ he says to Mary. As if he is anxious to conclude the identification, he casually produces a gold watch from his pocket. Clicking it open so that the ace of spades on its lid can be clearly seen by both Mary and Hawk, he pretends to consult it.

  ‘Goodness, that’s our Tommo’s watch,’ Mary says quick as a flash, for indeed it is Tommo’s. Senior Detective O’Reilly grins, the identification of the headless victim is complete, it’s been a satisfying afternoon’s work all round. He nods. ‘Good.’ He turns and calls over to the morgue assistant who brings him a clipboard to which is attached a form. The assistant also holds a small glass pen and ink stand. Holding the clipboard in one hand and with the pen poised in the other, O’Reilly asks officially, ‘Are you, Hawk Solomon, and you, Mary Abacus, quite certain this is the body of Tommo Solomon?’

  ‘With me hand on me heart,’ Mary lies, bringing her hand up to cover her left breast. The question is perfunctory, O’Reilly has witnessed a mother’s quick and positive identification and the copious tears of grief still issuing from the giant nigger.

  ‘You’ll sign here then,’ he says all businesslike, dipping the pen into the open ink bottle and handing it to Hawk. Mary and Hawk sign the paper confirming their identification and the morgue assistant takes the clipboard and departs.

  ‘When can we take possession of the body of our loved one?’ Mary asks plaintively, her eyes taking on a suitably sad expression. ‘Give it a burial decent folk might attend?’

  Hawk is amazed at her assertiveness, her complete presence of mind, she wants the body buried and out of the clutches of the law as soon as possible. ‘It ain’t in a nice state and we wish to preserve the best of our memories, sir,’ she adds, putting the finishing touches to what she hopes O’Reilly will see as a mother’s anxiety and grief.

  The corners of the detective’s mouth twitch slightly and Mary reads this as a sign of his sympathy. ‘See what I can do, missus. It’s in the hands o’ the coroner. He don’t like being told his business, though.’

  Mary takes a sovereign out of her purse and offers it to him. ‘A small contribution to the Orphans Fund,’ she says in a half-whisper.

  O’Reilly now gives her a genuine smile, knowing himself to be the orphan of particular benefit. ‘Might be able to give him a bit of a hurry up, eh?’ he says, taking the gold coin Mary holds out to him.

  ‘Most grateful, I’m sure,’ Mary says, batting her eyes.

  ‘Mother, that were a bribe,’ Hawk says to Mary on their return to the Hero of Waterloo.

  ‘Blimey! And him a detective, fancy that,’ Mary laughs.

  The coroner, magistrate M. T. Noyes, is happy enough to oblige and he orders the body’s release from the authorities and also the immediate return of Tommo’s personal effects from the police. Though, unable to resist the temptation to display his infamous wit, and first determining that Mr Cook of the Sydney Morning Herald is not present, the magistrate quips, ‘In making this decision we have lost our head and must quickly bury the evidence or the case will stink to high heaven!’

  By sundown every pub in Sydney will be repeating his bon mot. ‘Have you heard the latest from his nibs, Empty Noise?’ they will say gleefully to every newcomer.

  Mary, never one to take chances, orders an expensive black basalt tombstone engraved in gold with the words:

  TOMMO X SOLOMON

  1840–1861

  R.I.P.

  In a simple ceremony conducted by the Reverend Hannibal Peegsnit, the eccentric Congregationalist, with only Mary and Hawk in attendance, the remains of Mr Sparrow are duly buried.

  Ikey’s best pupil, Sparrer Fart, the lightest fingers in London Town, the small boy who never knew his real name, ended the way he’d started his life, unknown, unwanted and unloved, his final epitaph a beak’s joke in bad taste. He will lie headless beneath a tombstone, which, when Satan asks him for a reckoning of his life, he won’t even be able to call his own.

  Hawk wishes Mary ‘Long life’, which is what Ikey would have done in the same circumstances.

  Mary returns to Hobart after the funeral. Hawk gives Maggie’s two-room home and all her possessions to Flo, Maggie’s little friend, now married to the grocer’s son, Tom. He visits Caleb Soul, who accompanied Tommo and himself to the gold diggings at Lambing Flat and has since become one of Hawk’s dearest friends, to say his farewell. Then, after telling all at Tucker & Co. that he is going home to Hobart, and attending a gathering in the dock area of the entire company where he receives a handsome crystal goblet in gratitude for his services from Captain Tucker, Hawk sets sail for New Zealand.

  On his arrival Hawk makes his way to the stretch of Auckland Harbour where the Maori boats moor and catches a coastal ketch that will take him to the Ngati Haua tribe under Chief Tamihana, in whose household Tommo’s daughter, Hinetitama, is being raised.

  Hawk discovers that Tommo is dying from the wound to his head and is in constant pain. Often he sinks into a delirium but even when he is conscious, the pressure on his brain renders him incoherent, so that the words in his mouth twist into gibberish. But sometimes he has brief periods in the early mornings when he is quite lucid.

  During one such period he asks Hawk to leave his daughter with the Maori until she comes of age and can decide for herself whether she wants the life of a pakeha or wishes to stay with her people.

  ‘The Maori be her family now, even if her name be Solomon. Let her choose later, though Gawd knows why she’d want to be one of us.’ In these coherent periods it is the same old sardonic Tommo, ever on the alert for the mongrels.

  ‘I shall see she never lacks for an
ything,’ Hawk promises. ‘I will respect your wish, though Mary pleads she would very much like her, as her granddaughter, to be brought up well at home with every privilege and the very best of education.’

  ‘Tell her then to leave something in her will for my daughter, my share,’ Tommo replies. ‘Although from what I’ve seen of privilege and education it breeds only greed and superiority.’

  Hawk protests and Tommo laughs. ‘The Maori have all but lost their land and it has been took from them by educated men, men of the Church, committing a crime in the name of God and the governor himself doing the same in the name of the Queen. These are all educated men, all greedy and superior, all mongrels.’

  Hawk, ever the rational one, replies, ‘That is an oversimplification, Tommo, goodness is not replaced by greed when a man becomes educated nor is greed absent in the poor. Man is by his very nature rapacious and wealth has forever been the precursor of power, the need to be seen as superior. Hinetitama must have some learning, you would not want your daughter to be shackled by ignorance and superstition.’

  Tommo looks wearily up at Hawk. ‘You are the only good man I know what’s keen on book learnin’. Let my daughter grow up the natural way of her people, she will be taught to read and count and that will be enough.’ Tommo grins, it is near to being the old Tommo grin and Hawk’s heart is filled with love for his dying twin. ‘Unless you can teach her how to handle a pack of cards, eh? You must give her my Tiki.’ He touches the Tiki Hawk has returned to him and his expression grows suddenly serious. ‘Hawk, there is bad blood in me and it will be in my daughter also. If she stays among the Maori it will not come out so soon. Please tell her to wear it always, that the Tiki will protect her.’

  ‘Your axe? Is this the bad blood you talk of?’ Hawk does not wait for Tommo to reply. ‘Tommo, there is no bad blood there, what you did was for me and in memory of Maggie Pye. It was justice. You are good, Tommo, as good a man as ever had a conscience.’ For the first time the death of Mr Sparrow has been mentioned.