Solomon's Song Read Free Page A

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