As the Crow Flies

Daniel almost lost his voice, but somehow managed, “Where’s that?”

“Seventh floor,” he said, pointing up.

When he stepped out of the lift on the seventh floor Daniel was confronted by a larger-than-life poster showing a warm-faced man bearing the name Hector Watts, Inspector-General of Prisons.

Daniel walked over to the inquiry desk and asked if he could see Mr. Watts.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” said Daniel.

“Then I doubt—”

“Would you be kind enough to explain to the inspector-general that I have traveled from England especially to see him?”

Daniel was kept waiting for only a few moments before he was shown up to the eighth floor. The same warm smile that appeared in the picture now beamed down at him in reality, even if the lines in the face were a little deeper. Daniel judged Hector Watts to be near his sixtieth birthday and, although overweight, he still looked as if he could take care of himself.

“Which part of England do you come from?” Watts asked.

“Cambridge,” Daniel told him. “I teach mathematics at the university.”

“I’m from Glasgow myself,” Watts said. “Which won’t come as a surprise to you, with my name and accent. So, please have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

“I’m trying to trace a Guy Trentham, and the Police Department have referred me to you.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that name. But why do I remember it?” The Scotsman rose from his desk and went over to a row of filing cabinets that lined the wall behind him. He pulled open the one marked “STV,” and extracted a large box file.

“Trentham,” he repeated, as he thumbed through the papers inside the box, before finally removing two sheets. He returned to his desk and, having placed the sheets in front of him, began reading. After he had absorbed the details, he looked up and studied Daniel more carefully.

“Been here long, have you, laddie?”

“Arrived in Sydney less than a week ago,” said Daniel, puzzled by the question.

“And never been to Melbourne before?”

“No, never.”

“So what’s the reason for your inquiry?”

“I wanted to find out anything I could about Captain Guy Trentham.”

“Why?” asked the inspector-general. “Are you a journo?”

“No,” said Daniel, “I’m a teacher but—”

“Then you must have had a very good reason for traveling this far.”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” said Daniel. “You see, although I never knew him, Guy Trentham was my father.”

The head of the prison service looked down at the names listed on the sheet as next of kin: wife, Anna Helen, (deceased), one daughter, Margaret Ethel. There was no mention of a son. He looked back up at Daniel and, after a few moments of contemplation, came to a decision.

“I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Trentham, that your father died while he was in police custody.”

Daniel was stunned, and began shaking.

Watts looked across his desk and added, “I’m sorry to have to give you such unhappy news, especially when you’ve traveled all this way.”

“What was the cause of his death?” Daniel whispered.