Bushie on the Beach
Tuesday, April 12, 2022, 9:00am
Adelaide Police Station HQ
Dee
Dee clicked on the video-recording app on her mobile phone. Lillie’s voice rang shrill, but shaky at times. She had interviewed Lillie in her college office, late the previous afternoon. Hard for Dee to discern if this private school principal is telling the truth.
Still, Detective Inspector Berry was pleased with herself. Tracked the elusive Lillie down—with the help of the Electoral Roll, Births, Deaths and Marriage Records and Trove.
Lillie seemed happy to share her perspective on that night of Saturday, November 29, 1980. Dee reflected, a little too willing.
“I remember that day, I mean night,” Lillie spoke, “We went down to Sellicks Beach for the end of year bonfire. There was this old man on the cliff top waving his arms around and shouting.”
She gave a short laugh. “Fifi thought that he was calling for Milo. Remember him? He was this loser from our school who had repeated year 8 twice. Not the brightest of bulbs, that one. Or should I say, not the full glass and a half.” Lillie chuckled at her own joke in reference to a current commercial involving a chocolate milk drink.
“Now, I was with Renard that night. Thought all my Christmases had come at once, you know. I remember being so proud of cutting your lunch, Dee. You see, as I recall, he said he was meant to be at a party you were putting on that night, but here he was, with me.”
Lillie stabbed the air. “He was afraid of you, Dee. Afraid of what you’d do when you realised that he didn’t turn up at your party. He reckoned your party would be boring.”
She’s enjoying this, Dee thought, then asked, “How did you travel from Adelaide to Sellicks beach?”
Lillie pursed her lips in a sly smile, “With my brother, Sven. In his Ford. So much better than chugging along in my mother’s little red Honda. Mum needed the Honda. Ladies guild meeting at the church. You should’ve seen the fuss my brother made about that. Reckoned I’d cramp his style. With Fifi, I s’pose. Fifi’s Jimmy’s sister who was with Sven at the time. Neighbours actually. Anyway, Sven didn’t have a choice, but. He just had to deal with it and endure me in the back seat.”
“Who else was there?” Dee asked.
“Oh, there was Fifi’s brother, Jimmy. Oh, yeah, Sven had to drive him too. Not a happy camper, Sven wasn’t. He plopped insults and sarcastic remarks aimed at Jimmy and me all the way to Sellicks. Poor Jimmy, he looked a bit sad and kept shovelling handfuls of salt ‘n vinegar chips into his mouth and crunching. Um, Jimmy’s my husband now. We grew up, as you may have gathered, Dee.”
Dee resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Lillie’s efforts to be condescending to her. Teachers. They never change.
“Anyway, also, besides Sven, my brother, and Fifi Edwards,” Lillie continued, “there was Francis Renard, as I have mentioned. Anyway, while we were there, we heard these sounds of puttering that filled the cove. And Sven, who had an uncanny ear for such things, reckoned it was a motorbike ridden by Milo Katz. He was right.”
Lillie smiled. “Sure enough, Milo on his Kawasaki turns up. He sprayed sand all over us. He was not popular.
Sven steps towards Milo and asks, ‘Who invited you?’
The rest of us cried, “Gate crasher! Gate crasher!” and we all threw sand at Milo.
Sven threw his cider bottle. ‘Go home to your mummy, Milo!’
Milo dodged the bottle and says, ‘Hey, I just wanna good time.’
Sven plucks up a rock. ‘You are not welcome here. Go away.’
‘Why not? I have every right to be here,’ says Milo.
‘Are you thick or something?’ Sven shakes his fist. He’s still holding the stone.
‘Did you call me thick? Did you call me thick?’ asks Milo.
‘Yes, you moron! Now, go home!’ Sven hurls the stone, hitting Milo’s helmet.
‘Hey! That’s my head you hit!’ Milo, hands on hips, leers at Sven. ‘You wanna fight?’
‘Be my guest, fool!’ Sven hits Milo’s shoulder.
‘Oh, cut it out boys!’ Fifi gets between the guys splitting them apart. ‘It’s not worth it.’”
Lillie takes a breath.
Dee asks, “What happened then?”
“We had this uneasy truce,” Lillie says, “Milo one side of the fire, in the smoke, Sven and the rest of us crowded on the other side. The tide was coming in and waves began to soak our feet and put out the fire.
I wondered why Milo doesn’t take the hint.
Jimmy munched through his third bagful of chips. Chicken, this time. I remember that because I was annoyed by his crunching. And I remember Milo too. Bad habits.
Milo coughed. And spluttered. He blew his nose into a grimy handkerchief and inspected the contents. He tried to move out of the smoke, closer to us.
He provoked Sven again and they ended up fighting again. Sven and Milo toppled onto the sand crushing beer cans, steam-rolled one on top of the other singeing leather pants and denim jacket, rising from the ashes in a slow dance of boxing and fists and cuffs, and culminating in Sven’s $50 Reflecto Polaroid sunglasses flying into the fire. The coals must’ve still been hot as they melted the glasses on impact.
Sven was livid and vowed to kill Milo. We advised Milo to go. Nothing personal. But that he better take the hint and go. Fifi tried to calm Sven down reminding him that it’s only sunglasses.
Sven loosened his grip and sauntered towards the boulders, and Milo skulked to his bike and rode away, up the ramp, never that night to bother us again.”
“So, describe what you saw of the accident, then,” Dee said.
“Later, Fifi and I slipped away, up the ramp to the road. We kept warm with a kangaroo-skin blanket wrapped around us. We sat on a seat overlooking the miniature party scene. The lads still drinking. They’d moved up near the caves and away from the encroaching tide. We could see the orange glow of the revived bonfire. While we gossiped, focussing on Milo, the crisp air carried the beat of The Groping Paws from the sound system in Sven’s car.
Then we hear this almighty roar. ‘Excellent! A drag race!’ Fifi tears the blanket from me and waddles up the road. Shivering, I follow and peer down the peninsula. As the headlights approach, a dull thud and a blur of something flying, shock us. One headlight wobbles, then is out.
Fifi and I have this argument while rushing to the scene.
‘What was that?’ Fifi says.
‘Probably just a roo,’ I reply.
‘And what roo has two legs and arms? I definitely saw two legs and arms. I’m going to have look.’
We reach the spot. Motorbike shattered on the pavement. A group had gathered around a pole. We go and look. I can’t unsee the human wreckage; man’s frailty etched in my memory.
‘Come, we can’t just stand here. We better tell the others, someone.’ Fifi drags me down the ramp.
Sven is there lolling on the sand. He’s oozing the smell of alcohol vapours, and barely conscious.
Jimmy, through a mouthful of crisps, says to us, ‘A good thing that Milo wasn’t there otherwise he’d be raving about the grisly details till morning.’
‘It was Milo,’ I yell at him.
‘Oh.’ Jimmy pops a large curly crisp into his mouth and munches.
Renard pokes his head out of his Kombi. ‘What’s all the din?’
It’s the first time I register that Renard is there. He must’ve arrived while Fifi and I were up looking at the ghastly scene. I think I told him what happened to Milo to which he replied that was more exciting than going to your party, Dee.
Then Fifi pulls me away and says, ‘Come on, Lillie. We better see what we can do for the poor bloke.’
So, up we go.”
“What did you see then?” Dee asks.
“When we got back up,” Lillie says, “there was a group of pensioners hovering over the blood-stained sheet. Leaning up against the warped pole, a man with black rimmed glasses and bulging nose shook his head saying, ‘There’s nothing we could do.’
A woman, hair in rollers, wrapped in a lavender quilted dressing gown, was gawking, ‘Poor fellow. What a waste!’
It was a grizzly scene and I asked Fifi if we could go down again. I was feeling quite sick.
Renard was kind, you know, he comforted me. I found the whole ordeal very confronting.”
“What? Renard?” Dee asks.
“No, the accident.”
“Where was Sven? Your brother?” Dee says.
“He was there. His car was there. It didn’t go away.”
Dee leans forward. “Are you sure?”
“I’d know if my brother left; he was my ride.”
“What? With Fifi?” Dee leans back. “But you were with Renard, weren’t you?”
“So? So what? Nothing happened if that’s what you’re implying,” Lillie’s voice has an edge; agitated. “Sven was around the whole night and his car was still there in the morning. Besides, if he’d started up the engine anytime during the night, especially when Milo was hit, I would’ve heard it and recognised it. There’s no way Sven did anything. He was there the whole, entire night and Fifi was with him. Go on, ask them. You’ll see.”
The phone recorder clicked off. Interview terminated 18:05 hours.
Dee gritted her teeth and then muttered, ‘She’s lying. And I’m going to prove it.’
She straightened the page of her notebook holding the contact details of Lillie’s brother, Sven von Erikson and his ex, Fifi Edwards. ‘This will prove interesting,’ she said. ‘Pity she didn’t have any contact details for Renard.’
But then she remembered that Dan might. He’s interviewed Francis Renard the other day.
Monday, April 11, 2022, 6:05pm
Eastern Suburbs College Office,
Lillie
Lillie stared at the pink frosted cupcake in the middle of her desk. Must resist. Must lose weight. Oh, but it’s only one. And besides, you deserve it.
She reached for the cake.
No, you’ll regret it. All that sugar. It’ll make you sick.
She slowly removed her hand from the cake.
But I need sustenance for the drive home.
Reach for the cake.
No, I’ll get a headache.
Replace hand on her lap. Stare at the cake.
She reflected on the interview with Detective Dee Berry. Sure, she was meant to tell a different narrative. Was it that night she spent with Renard? Hadn’t she actually gate-crashed Dee’s party because she wasn’t invited?
All the intervening years Sven had insisted, convinced her that she, Lillie had got it wrong. Imagined the accident, like a bad dream. Her mum had supported Sven. Mum, now, all muddled and in a nursing home. What would her 84-year-old mum say now? “No, dear, you have it all wrong—Sven’s the brains in the family, ya know.”
Lillie picked at the icing and licked her fingers. In increments the cake disappeared into Lillie’s mouth.
© Tessa Trudinger 2024
Feature Photo: Looking Forward to a Good Night’s Fishing, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017
***
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