CHAPTER 14
In the spring of 1986 local body elections were held throughout the country. There was more than usual interest in the mayoralty contest in the Miranda District, a two-candidate race.
Anyone coming into the town could have been forgiven for thinking the incumbent mayor was being elected unopposed. Posters of an artist-enhanced photo of him were visible throughout the commercial area and were scattered around the rural district as well. A huge banner of Mayor Rowlands was stretched between the two-storey dry cleaner's shop, that he owned, and the three-storey office building opposite, that he also owned.
There was nothing promoting Matt's campaign anywhere in sight.
To the dismay of his self-appointed campaign committee Matt asked them ever so nicely, to disband. "Please, just do what I ask. You'll read about my reason for this request in my one and only advertisement in The Bugle."
"But Matt," whined Josie Landers, committee convenor, "Rowlands is spending all day and into the night phoning folk, calling in old favours. And his campaign committee has people organising a door-knocking campaign to extol his virtues and emphasising why he needs another three-years to complete the initiatives he began introducing two terms ago. And yet you're insisting we do nothing."
"Absolutely. Do nothing."
Matt was going to add, gently, "Or else." But thought it best not to say that. It didn't matter, though. The stern look on his face gave the message loud and clear.
He was very aware everyone knew manipulations occur at election time, and then general apathy sets in until its election time again. People do some stupid things as election campaigns enter their final stages, like throwing missiles at speakers or toppling candidates' 'Vote For Me' signs.
Late one Friday evening, a week before polling day, someone fired two rifle shots in the middle of town. A parked taxi driver hopefully waiting for a fare to appear, heard the shots and called the police. They rushed to the scene, batons, handcuffs and their notebooks at the ready.
Nothing was found. That is nothing until Sergeant Chivers happened to look up at the man he despised Mayor Rowlands, depicted on the banner gently moving overhead in the night breeze.
"Cripes," he said. "Hey everyone, I found where the bullets went through."
'Everyone' consisted of Constables Ted Jakes and Alan Hunter plus Sam Smith, who slept above the hardware store and who had rushed up to join them, swinging a pick-axe handle and the night watchman at the timber yard, Phil Dumpster accompanied by his ugly brute of a dog. Silently the men admired the precise execution of the rifleman. Both eyes of the depicted mayor had been replaced by neat circles, bullet holes.
As one, the men looked beyond the scene of the 'assassination' and saw that the bullets would have travelled on to harmlessly fly into undeveloped land on the rocky outcrop across the river because the main street veered left at that point where the river curved towards the town wharf.
"Bloody great shooting," commented Constable Jakes. "Think it was Matt?"
"Don't believe so," replied the sergeant. "Matt fights fair unless he's out-numbered. There are only two candidates in the election for mayor so he's not exactly out-numbered, is he?"
"Matt's wife. Can she shoot?" inquired Constable Hunter.
"She's too much of a lady to do this sort of thing," replied Sergeant Chivers.
"Vikki."
"Whose Vikki and what's her connection?" inquired Constable Jakes, who recently transferred to Miranda.
Sergeant Chivers made a direct order: "Put a sock in it Jakes."
"Misfit Jones?"
"A likely suspect Phil and his boss Max more likely so. But let's leave sleeping dogs lie.
A photographer from The Bugle arrived out of nowhere and seemed to be remarkably well briefed. He conferred quietly with Sergeant Chivers.
"Boys, stop any traffic that comes along," he said to the two constables.
The photographer moved his vehicle into the middle of the street, parking a little back but parallel to the banner. He limbed up on to the roof-rack and exposed half a film taking shots.
One hour before The Bugle was to come off the press, the Mayor stamped into the editor's office and slammed the door behind him. Shouting could be heard.
Minutes later the editor called in the news editor and chief photographer and said to hold the front page. He wanted the photo of the gunshots through the Mayor's image pulled.
"But Tony, we've only got crap left," said the news editor.
"Well pick the best piece of crap to replace it with, " snarled the editor. "If we're more than ten minutes late you'll be held responsible."
The photographers gathered around their chief, searching through rejected photos and looking for something useful that had come in from overseas. But there was nothing of relevance.
"What about this one?"
The group looked at the photograph of Matt, the white of one eyeball showing vividly, as he looked up entirely devoid of expression from under his cupped hand.
"Great photo Spud. Could win you an award," said a colleague.
The chief photographer took another thirty seconds, drumming his fingers on the table.
"Let's go with it," he barked.
"It's our replace. Go, go! Matt will kill us for using it, but our blasted editor will kill me if I publish crap. I've decided to postpone my execution!"
"Bugger me," said Mayor Rowlands, looking at the big photograph on the front page.
"My photo was removed but they have replaced it with this awful one of Curtis. Bloody awful of him, isn't it? It will cost him the election, although I have it won already."
The executives gathered around him obediently nodded in unison.
At that stage none had read the caption, written by the news editor who once worked on a London tabloid newspaper where everything was written with a twist.
Ten minutes later Isobel from the hotel reception counter delivered Matt his copy of The Bugle.
"Bloody hell," he thundered. "I'll personally castrate that bloody photographer and tar and feather the frigging editor."
"It isn't a great photo of you Matt," said Isobel nervously. "But I suggest you take a look at the caption first before completely getting off your bike."
She turned and fled.
