Sugar Town

by Robert Nicholls

  “That’s not how you told it back then, Rog’!” Morrow said.

  “Of course it is! I’m sure it is! Check your records, you’ll see!”

  “Records were all burned up, Rog’! As you well know! But I got me own records . . . up here!” he said, tapping his head. “An’ what I remember bein’ told was that the three of you – you, Alf and Johnathon – stayed in the beer garden! Right through to when the call come from the hospital! All there together, ‘at’s what yez all said! I’d stake me left nut on that, Rog’! ‘Ere was even some kinda corroboration from bar staff, which I’m suddenly havin’ to wonder ‘f it might o’ bin coerced in some way!”

  Roger Dabney clenched his teeth, folded his hands and said, “Ridiculous! In any event, I’ve nothing to add.”

  “You see any o’ these men that night, Kev’?” the Sergeant asked and, to Kev’s whispered, “No,” he said, “Course not. ‘Cause you were with Rita, weren’t ye – and young Ruthie, here, not much more ‘n’ a babe in arms at the time – at the McFarlane house! While the Reverend and Bridie were at the church. I’n’t that right?” He didn’t wait for an answer but spoke to Roger instead. “See, I found that out straight away back then. ‘Cause some folks were properly forthcomin’ – even though it wunt comfortable for ‘em! What I didn’t find out ‘til jus’ now, Rog’, is that some others maybe were more focussed on the comfort than on the forthcomin’!”

  When Roger didn’t answer, Bessie nudged the Sergeant’s phone and said, “Check with Matron, Cecil. She could check the records; see where they fetched Roger from! Might save some time!”

  “’Waste some feckin’ time, more like!” Isak snarled. “He’s lyin’ ‘n’ she’d lie to protect ‘im! Jus’ like she done the night ‘e killed Gracie!”

  And Roger cracked. “I did not kill Grace, you pathological buffoon! And no one has lied! I’ve checked the records myself! I was fetched from the residence and I attended . . . doing all I was capable of doing . . . on both occasions!”

  “You checked the records, Rog’? Why? Weren’t ye sure o’yer memory?”

  And Roger was cornered. The long and the short of it, he then reluctantly revealed, was that back then he was dealing, none too successfully, with what he called a ‘pharmacological involvement’. A little too free with the alcohol. And with the occasional ‘self-prescription’ from the hospital stores. A young doctor, big pressures, etcetera.

  On the night Bridie was attacked, an unfortunate mix and quantity had left him, as he said, ‘rather severely out of focus’. Nonetheless, the records confirmed that he’d been roused from the residence; that he’d fronted up, supervised the clean up of Bridie’s contusions, checked her for concussion and ordered a rape test.

  “All perfectly appropriate responses, I assure you! At mention of the rape test, however, the records also show, Jacob had a panic attack! She’d been through enough of an ordeal, he said, and no one – especially not someone . . . someone in my state – would be violating her further. And he took Bridie home.”

  “He took her home?”

  “He took her home.”

  “Without the test!”

  “Without the test, yes. And I let him do so! I can only think that I was probably glad not to have to deal with it! I was, as I say, though functioning acceptably . . . not entirely . . . unimpaired. And before you ask, yes, I had recently been made aware of the rumour that there may have been a less than healthy relationship between the Reverend and Bridie. But I remind you, it was only rumour! Pub gossip! And prior to that event, I would not seriously have suspected . . . !”

  “Now!” Morrow mused. “Suspectin’ is what my job is all about, see? An’ domestic abuse is a reportable crime! Are ye gonna claim you done that, are ye? As the law requires?”

  Dabney glared defiantly.

  “The man was a minister, Cecil! For God’s sake! A moral pillar of the community!”

  And then his head fell, hanging, it seemed to me, lower than I’d ever seen it.

  “No I did not report it as I should’ve done! Nor did I lock the doors, as I should’ve done, and insist on a proper examination! I let it all go, all right? In that, and I believe in that alone, I’m culpable! When, eventually, Rita pried Bridie away long enough to allow me a proper look and we discovered her pregnancy, I did then offer an abortion. Which, yes, Sergeant, I know would’ve been illegal! But desperate situations, you understand? If the worst had happened and Jacob was the . . . ! In any event, Rita was doubly horrified by my offer. In her mind a child, no matter how it was conceived – even if it was conceived by a child – even if the child’s father was responsible – not that we discussed that in any way – had to be part of some ‘greater plan’! However lunatic that plan may be!

  “And so the offer was refused and that was the end of my involvement! For all her subsequent check-ups – Rita took her out of town. Not, of course, that there were any physical problems, strong young girl like that! But her emotional state! As time went on, you could it see a mile away! Post-traumatic shock – partial amnesia – possibly a dissociative disorder! I did try to press them – not hard enough, obviously, but I did at least suggest – that they seek psychiatric help . . . for all of them! I hoped, when Rita and Bridie went off to Brisbane, that they at least would speak to someone. But I know they didn’t. They came back. Rita had Asael. Bridie, for all intents and purposes, was as innocent as she’d ever been. And the Reverend . . . well, subsequent events – Les’s confession to Grace, etc – put the lie to all the rumours!”

  He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, mopped his brow, refolded it and put it away before looking at each of us in turn. It was as though he’d wiped away his guilt.

  “Rita never again approached me for help and I, obviously, never perceived a need for insistance. Even though others spoke to me on occasion about her behavioural changes, her emotional stability. Rita’s, not Bridie’s! Post-natal depression, I told them. Well why not? It was the popular delusion at the time! Exacerbated by Grace’s death, of course, which undoubtedly was the truer cause! But she obviously needed time and space, and I advised inquirers to give her those things. I’m not trying to excuse myself, understand! I damaged their initial trust. But I did get my career back on track and Rita, at least, was astute enough to have seen that! If she’d only allowed herself to re-engage with me. If she had, I believe we could’ve averted those final terrible steps.”

  He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, coming to the end of his story.

  “A year or two later, Jacob left and Bridie came back to me. I realised then that whatever doors had closed in her mind were closed for good – and I mean that in both senses of the word. She’d found her own sort of peace; and supporting that peace, medically, was my most responsible choice. Just as supporting it socially was the town’s most responsible choice! And should remain so!”

  He looked around at us, defying us to challenge him.

  “And now . . . I do hope that’s enough ‘dirty laundry’ to bring this scurrilous exercise to an end. Because that’s all there is! Except to say: you all know the dedication I’ve given to this town! I’ve been a good physician. If it seems now to be the case that, for that brief period of time, years ago . . . for that temporary lapse . . . I owe an apology . . . you may now consider it delivered!”

  If the rest of us dropped our heads at that point, Sergeant Morrow certainly did not.

  “’If that’s all there is’,” he mused. “’At’s exactly the question, innit! So jus’ to be clear! You’re tellin’ us yer problems made it so’s you couldn’ protect Bridie, right? An’ maybe Gracie too, if Isak’s right! Which I get! But what I’m wonderin’ – an’ I want you to think carefully about this before you answer, Rog’, ‘cause I’m thinkin’ the nub o’ this problem is just here beside us somewhere – what I’m wonderin’ is . . . is there anyone ye’re tryin’ to protect now! For instance, we both know that you never told me about the three o’ youse leavi
n’ the pub together on that night!”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?” Dabney hissed across the table. “I don’t know what I told you back then! Or even, for certain, what I did back then! I was out of it for days at a time! I accept responsibility for that! But I pulled myself out of that doldrum, and I also claim responsibility for that, and for all that I’ve been to Sugar Town since. So if you’re asking me, Sergeant, to tell you more about who did what to who, I can’t! Because I don’t know! And I’m not going to cast aspersions just to help a lynch mob with issues that are apparently beyond their capacity to understand! And furthermore, I put it to you Sergeant, that finding evidence . . . either old or new . . . is not my job! It’s your job!”

  If there was any sting in that for the Sergeant, he didn’t flinch.

  “Right. So, when Les went missing a couple months later,” he persisted, “and the rumour mill said that he was the one . . . ?”

  “Oh please! He was a violent obsessive! He was in the street! He spoke to Grace Albion about it! Who else would it have been?”

  “Mmm. He was in the street. But ye see, according to what you just tol’ me, for a while at least, he wun’t the only one in the street! Eh?”

  “What I been sayin’ all along!” Isak snarled.

  Anyone other than Doctor Dabney, hearing Isak’s tone and sensing a chink in his story and having just publically humiliated himself, might have been inclined to subside at this point. Anyone other than our doctor, whose argumentative spirit was unquenchable.

  “Les left first,” he droned mechanically. “Alone! The rest of us left later. Together. That, I believe to be true. Les was an angry, resentful, morally ambiguous person. That, we all know to be true! I also point out that, of the three of us you’re now apparently expressing an interest in, on the most elemental level, Johnathon appears to have no difficulty finding willing female friends, so why would he ever have attacked a child? And Alf’s commitment to Vivian is so rock solid, his nature so shy and yielding, that for him to intentionally harm anyone is virtually inconceivable! And I – whatever else you may think me capable of – I invite you to confirm that I was asleep in the residence when Bridie was brought in. Now if these incontrovertibly mundane observations don’t suffice, and if the contributions we’ve made to society aren’t proof enough of our probity, let me also point this out to you! There exists no evidence – none at all – to say that that rape was anything other than a lone sexual deviant’s attack. Someone in whom Bridie’d, perhaps all unwittingly, aroused a violent passion! Who do we know who was subject to violent passions? Yes, that’s right! Les! That being said, it remains only for me to warn you! Be very, very careful about impugning the reputations of upright citizens now living in Sugar Town! People who are active, contributing, law-abiding citizens! And finally, may I remind you, Sergeant, of what Bridie herself told you, just this morning. She’d prefer, for Asael’s sake, that things stay quite exactly as they are!”

  He turned what I’m sure he hoped would be a kindly look on me then.

  “I’m sorry, Ruthie, for all the unpleasant things you’ve had to hear these past days. And I sincerely hope that one day, when you’re older, you’ll be able to forgive us the shortcomings that’ve caused hardships for your family. But you have to know,” he cast his gaze around the room, “that witch hunts seldom turn up real witches. Scapegoats yes, witches no! And the best thing that can happen to this retrospective investigation is for it to stop! Here and now! Before innocent people are hurt!”

  I had no answer to give him. Innocent people had already been hurt. And Bridie, knowing whatever she knew, had already identified Les as a scapegoat. And she’d said, in my own hearing, that she’d prefer to see it all dropped! Which, maybe, since it was for Asael’s sake, was what I wanted too! But Morrow was in a whole different place.

  “The best thing that can happen, Doc’,” he said, mimicking the doctor’s words and tone, “is that I get my hands on whatever bastard’s runnin’ amok in my town, right now! Which is precisely why it’ll be me – no one else – who decides when persons of interest stop bein’ of interest!”

  * * *

  The argument had gone back and forth then, with the Hoggitts supporting Dabney’s ‘drop it’ point of view and Bessie and Arturo taking the sergeant’s side, insisting that it be followed to its true end. Isak’s only demand was that the doctor explain why Gracie had died when her injuries had seemed so superficial. The sergeant himself leaned back in his chair, oblivious to both sides. He clasped his hands behind his head and seemed, once again, transfixed by the ceiling.

  “Something, something, something,” he muttered to himself. Then he flopped forward and began flipping through his tattered little notebook.

  That was when I decided to slip out. My stomach was in a knot, my head was spinning and I’d begun again to wonder where Bridie would have gone once she left the hospital. My best guess was to Kevin’s, to The Harmony Bakery. I whispered as much to Kevin on the way past him and he said that she knew where the key was and we’d go in a minute. He just needed to hear the end of this. I told him I’d wait by the delivery van.

  Outside, the sly winker apologised to me and Morrow came to the door with a glint of insight in his eyes. “Step in here, boy!” and Franz went to tell his story of the Night of Mayhem one more time.

  And, “Hallelujah!” Dorrie said. “Where’s your brother, Ruthie? Where’s Asael?”

  Chapter 23 – Looking for Bridie

  “Bridie, you know none of that’s true!” Johnathon simpers, a wise parent to a confused child. “It’s the power of suggestion, coming from bitter, ignorant, confused people; people who want to use your vulnerability for their own ends! That’s all! I have enemies, you know – people who resent my standing in Sugar Town. People who would like to see me brought down. But you’re not one of those, Bridie! You remember, don’t you, how close your father and I were? How I’ve always been a friend to you and your family? Why just yesterday, I was telling Ruthie how I’ve organised a new house for the three of you! Did she tell you?”

  “You’re not to talk to Ruthie, again. Not ever! Nor Asael.”

  He’s lowered himself into an easy chair, groaning with the pleasure of it, while Bridie stands before him, tall, straight and balanced, hands clenched at her sides. She’s so beautiful; so self-possessed; so like her mother. He has to stop himself from groaning a second time, with the second pleasure of looking at her. But he keeps his face blank, except perhaps for a hint of concern that he allows in his eyes and the tilt of his head. Nothing more.

  “Sit down, Bridie. Please. Don’t stand there like I’m your enemy.”

  She ignores him, looking about the room as though its shadows might come for her, take her unawares. From where he sits, Johnathon can see the canvas bag on the floor in the bedroom – the bag with her little-girl shoes and panties.

  “You’ve nothing to fear,” he says to her. “I’m alone here. Just a harmless, broken old bachelor in his primitive cave. Let me get you something! A drink! A cup of tea?”

  She’s suddenly not sure herself why she’s here. What did she want from him, other than to look in his eyes and tell him that she remembers? I remember your voice, Johnathon Cranna. She also remembers Alf Caletti’s voice and Les Crampton’s voice. But she needn’t tell him that. Because neither of them touched her. Only this man touched her.

  “You know, Bridie,” Johnathon says, weighing his words like the careful poisoner he is, “there are people in town, to this day, who think that the Reverend might be Asael’s father! I know! I know! It’s a terrible thing even to contemplate. But if you’re really so intent on discovering the truth. . . !” He leans forward in his chair, gazing up at her, speaking to the child she used to be. “Can you remember . . . how he used to look at you, Bridie? How he used to speak your name? How he used to touch you? He was a good man, Bridie! But you were his downfall. That’s why he’s gone! Because he didn’t know how to love you the w
ay a father should! Because the way he loved you, and the way you loved him back, frightened him. I encouraged him to go away, Bridie . . . to save you! I did that!”

  She looks at him, but in her mind’s eye she sees the Reverend, pulling her to him, shedding tears against her chest. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me.’

  “He’s still a good man, Johnathon,” she says. “A great man. And if there are people who think otherwise, they are wrong; wrong in every regard.”

  She turns to the door and grasps the handle. So far, for Johnathon, it’s the most frightening thing she’s done. Why has she come? What does she want? What will she do when she leaves? He’s reminded of the childhood game of ‘truth or dare’. Tell me a true thing or carry out my dare. She’s challenged him to tell the truth about the rape. He’s refused and she’s walking away, daring him to stop her. It’s a game that he can also play.

  “Bridie?” His voice is sharp, edged with his own challenge. ”Why not get a paternity test? And then you’d know, wouldn’t you? And your . . . son . . . would know. The whole town would know. What your father did to you.”

  Dabney has already told him of her refusal to allow a test. But still, it’s a dangerous dare. She might hate him enough / believe her new memory enough, to follow through on it. And then he’d be lost. But could she risk being wrong? Could she risk having her beloved father’s public standing in Sugar Town rubbed in the dirt? Does she want the truth badly enough to risk that? He feels deliciousness in the danger.

  “You mean, what you did to me,” she says calmly, turning back to face him. “And for that, I don’t need a test, Johnathon. I don’t even need revenge. Because, in a way that I doubt you’ll ever understand, though you took from me, you also gave to me. Asael. He’s my gift; my proof that God can and does wash away evil – calls flowers forth, even from filth. Asael is of you, Johnathon; but he’s no part of you. What I offer you is this. You stay completely away from us – from my family, from our friends. You and your partner both. And in return, my memory will be as incomplete as it’s always been. But if you, or he, ever attempt to involve yourselves or interfere in any way, ever again, with anyone in my family, for good or for bad . . . may God help you, Johnathon.”