The Noon Lady of Towitta Read Online Free
Nitschke.
Priest knew it was crucial to get to the bottom of what had gone on between these two sisters between eight and eleven oâclock on the evening of the murder. They were referred to as âloving sistersâ. Surely Mary would not have resorted to murdering her sister?
The Schippansâ house had been left unattended after the murder until the following morning when Constable Lambert and his mother and the three Schippan siblings returned. Mrs Ann Lambert then laid out the body before returning home. Certainly there was plenty of evidence of blood all about the house, over the floors and up the walls. With so much animal butchering going on around the farm it was hard to tell what blood was what.
On the Sunday after Priest and his company of men had arrived, Tommy King, the famous Aboriginal tracker from Gladstone, joined them. Originally from Alice Springs, he had earned an outstanding reputation on the trail. Accompanied by Corporal Finch he soon made a circuit of the Schippan house at the distance of about half a mile, but failed to find any trace of footprints other than those of the police and other visitors. Even with gales blowing throughout the day it was hard to baffle an expert tracker. Tommy told Priest with conviction, âNo fella come along there. No tracks here, Boss.â But Priest had a suspicion that even supposing foreign footprints had been made in the vicinity of the house, they would now have been blown away by the terrific dust storms. Perhaps Towitta itself had disappeared?
Priest told his troops, âI donât care if all the dust storms of the Sahara have swirled to the Murray Flats, we will not abandon the enquiries, meaning none of you are going home until I am satisfied that all avenues have been pursued. Is that clear?â
Corporal Finch went with Tommy into the farmyard as he continued his meticulous search for tracks, but to no avail. There was no trace of bloodstains beyond the kitchen door and they were certain no one left the house at the time of the murder. The search by the troopers, a two-mile wide sweep, was extended beyond the farm. All that was found was the print of an old boot of Mr Schippanâs in a dried-out puddle from long ago. The hopes that had relied on Tommyâs skills blew away with the dust and left Priest frustrated and baffled.
The inquest had to consider these facts, of course. The evidence from inside the farmhouse directed suspicion to Mary. Priest was convinced that the father could not have committed the crime. His men rode from Eden Valley in daylight to see how long it took. They concluded that attempting it at night was simply not possible. One of the troopers volunteered to try but had to abandon the attempt. The evidence was pointing to Mary, and Priest was finding it hard to accept.
1
Mary
April 1919
I have consumption. For eight years after my fatherâs death I thought I was getting better because I felt free from his tyranny. How wrong I was. After Christmas, when I had several serious fits and bleeding bouts, Mother was so alarmed at the thought of losing me, her last remaining daughter, that she brought me for treatment at the Adelaide Consumptive Home. Iâm told that once you come here you donât leave â except in a box. My prospects are hopeless.
Apart from its lovely but neglected gardens, the place has little cheer. According to the nurses, the hospital was once a lunatic asylum; that is perhaps why there are so many tiny cell-like cubicles with big iron locks on the doors. I have one of these old cells to call my own with a tiny window overlooking a shady garden. The rooms are in the long narrow building which everyone calls âthe corridorâ. And it is here that other women patients like me will die.
Amid such gloomy surroundings, one of the nursing sisters almost half my age has befriended me. Although sheâs not from a German family like ours, Sister Kathleen tells me her
Priest knew it was crucial to get to the bottom of what had gone on between these two sisters between eight and eleven oâclock on the evening of the murder. They were referred to as âloving sistersâ. Surely Mary would not have resorted to murdering her sister?
The Schippansâ house had been left unattended after the murder until the following morning when Constable Lambert and his mother and the three Schippan siblings returned. Mrs Ann Lambert then laid out the body before returning home. Certainly there was plenty of evidence of blood all about the house, over the floors and up the walls. With so much animal butchering going on around the farm it was hard to tell what blood was what.
On the Sunday after Priest and his company of men had arrived, Tommy King, the famous Aboriginal tracker from Gladstone, joined them. Originally from Alice Springs, he had earned an outstanding reputation on the trail. Accompanied by Corporal Finch he soon made a circuit of the Schippan house at the distance of about half a mile, but failed to find any trace of footprints other than those of the police and other visitors. Even with gales blowing throughout the day it was hard to baffle an expert tracker. Tommy told Priest with conviction, âNo fella come along there. No tracks here, Boss.â But Priest had a suspicion that even supposing foreign footprints had been made in the vicinity of the house, they would now have been blown away by the terrific dust storms. Perhaps Towitta itself had disappeared?
Priest told his troops, âI donât care if all the dust storms of the Sahara have swirled to the Murray Flats, we will not abandon the enquiries, meaning none of you are going home until I am satisfied that all avenues have been pursued. Is that clear?â
Corporal Finch went with Tommy into the farmyard as he continued his meticulous search for tracks, but to no avail. There was no trace of bloodstains beyond the kitchen door and they were certain no one left the house at the time of the murder. The search by the troopers, a two-mile wide sweep, was extended beyond the farm. All that was found was the print of an old boot of Mr Schippanâs in a dried-out puddle from long ago. The hopes that had relied on Tommyâs skills blew away with the dust and left Priest frustrated and baffled.
The inquest had to consider these facts, of course. The evidence from inside the farmhouse directed suspicion to Mary. Priest was convinced that the father could not have committed the crime. His men rode from Eden Valley in daylight to see how long it took. They concluded that attempting it at night was simply not possible. One of the troopers volunteered to try but had to abandon the attempt. The evidence was pointing to Mary, and Priest was finding it hard to accept.
1
Mary
April 1919
I have consumption. For eight years after my fatherâs death I thought I was getting better because I felt free from his tyranny. How wrong I was. After Christmas, when I had several serious fits and bleeding bouts, Mother was so alarmed at the thought of losing me, her last remaining daughter, that she brought me for treatment at the Adelaide Consumptive Home. Iâm told that once you come here you donât leave â except in a box. My prospects are hopeless.
Apart from its lovely but neglected gardens, the place has little cheer. According to the nurses, the hospital was once a lunatic asylum; that is perhaps why there are so many tiny cell-like cubicles with big iron locks on the doors. I have one of these old cells to call my own with a tiny window overlooking a shady garden. The rooms are in the long narrow building which everyone calls âthe corridorâ. And it is here that other women patients like me will die.
Amid such gloomy surroundings, one of the nursing sisters almost half my age has befriended me. Although sheâs not from a German family like ours, Sister Kathleen tells me her