The Great Divide

by L. J. M. Owen

  Campbell glanced at O’Brien, then back to Jake. ‘If they didn’t take any of my vines, and it wasn’t Max, then I have no idea who it was.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘I know you want me gone as soon as possible.’

  ‘Somewhere safe. So things like this don’t happen.’

  ‘You didn’t hear or see anything, Max?’ Jake asked.

  ‘The first I heard of it was you shouting to see if anyone else was in the house. Why were you there?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about the back roads behind the estate. I’ve been trying to determine how someone might be able to drive in and out for access to the vineyard without being seen on the main road. From satellite images it looks as though it’s possible on fire trails?’

  Max smiled. ‘That takes me back! Yes, there are dirt tracks through the bush that allow you to get to and from town and most of the other farms in the area.’

  ‘Why do you say, “takes you back”?’

  He smiled again. ‘Teenage trysts.’

  ‘So the backroads are common knowledge?’

  ‘Everyone at high school was using them.’

  That was something, at least. A thorough canvassing of everyone who had travelled the road to and from the campground on Friday night and early morning hadn’t identified any unaccounted vehicles. Perhaps this was how Ava’s killer had transported her body to the vineyard.

  Jake returned to questioning Max’s father. ‘With Ms O’Brien being found on your property, we need to look into whether there’s any relationship between what happened to her and what’s happened to you.’

  ‘You think whoever did that to Ava also attacked Mason?’ O’Brien said.

  Was that panic in his voice? ‘We can’t rule it out,’ Jake said. ‘Please tell me again, Mr Campbell, what was your relationship with Ava?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t have one. The church paid me to rent them the cottage, and she used it. End of story.’

  ‘The St John of God group, to be exact?’

  ‘That sounds right.’

  ‘So if we look back through your financial records we’ll find regular deposits from them into one of your accounts during the years the girls’ home was in operation?’

  ‘Of course.’ Campbell looked down at his coffee. ‘Just ask my accountant.’

  ‘You have an accountant?’ his son asked.

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘He’s not a very good one, then,’ Max said.

  ‘When you made the agreement with the church, you weren’t concerned about the noise?’ Jake asked.

  Campbell looked puzzled ‘What noise?’

  ‘The sound of lots of little children running around, playing.’

  ‘No, he … ah … they promised the children would be quiet.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Look, it was the Christian thing to do. I don’t understand why you’re here. Shouldn’t Kelly be the one to do this?’

  ‘Who first approached you to rent the cottage?’

  ‘One of the brothers. Don’t remember his name, so no point in asking.’

  Jake’s intuition suggested he may have touched a nerve, but given Mason’s ornery nature it was difficult to say for sure.

  ‘And did you carry out regular inspections?’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘The cottage. Surely you were concerned that a dozen or so children might damage your property?’

  ‘If they’d done any damage the church would have paid for it. Look, what has any of this got to do with why I’m here?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to determine, Mr Campbell.’

  Something occurred to Jake … he pulled his phone out and moved towards the door.

  ‘See?’ Mason Campbell grumped. ‘Always on the portable phones.’

  The door closed behind Jake as he re-entered the corridor.

  ‘Detective Hunter?’ Charlotte answered her phone.

  ‘Yes. Hi, Charlotte. Are you visiting Amelia today?’

  ‘I’m going over later this afternoon.’

  ‘I thought you might be. I wanted to let you know that Liam O’Brien, Ms O’Brien’s brother, is here at the moment.’

  ‘You’re there?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Amelia said she’d like to talk to you again.’

  Jake hadn’t expected that. ‘I’ll see her soon, then. But back to Mr O’Brien …’

  ‘If he’s there, I should probably offer him my con­dolences? For Ms O’Brien?’

  Politeness had won the day. ‘He would probably appre­ciate that,’ he said. ‘He’s visiting Mason Campbell in Ward 6B. And if I’m still here when you arrive, I’d like a word?’

  ‘Okay?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, I just want to ask you about Ava’s house.’

  ‘No problem,’ she said.

  Pushing the door to Campbell’s room open again, he smiled.

  Three pairs of eyes looked at him curiously.

  ‘That was Charlotte. She’ll be here in the hospital visiting a friend soon. She’d like to come by and offer her condolences,’ he said, looking at Liam.

  ‘Which one’s that?’ Mason Campbell asked in a stage whisper.

  ‘Is that Charlotte from the supermarket?’ Max said at the same time that O’Brien said, ‘The youngest one.’

  ‘Right.’ Campbell relaxed back into his bed.

  Jake was now itching for some privacy so he could listen to whatever was on the recording in his phone. O’Brien had said at the police station that he couldn’t recall the names of any of the girls in the home, yet he knew who Charlotte was by name. And Campbell cared about where she sat in the order of children. Should Jake see how they reacted to a different name?

  ‘Another one of the girls from the home is here too, if you’d like to see her? Amelia?’

  Both O’Brien and Campbell stiffened slightly. That was the thing about older people when they attempted duplicity—their bodies tended to betray them.

  ‘No, no, one’s enough,’ O’Brien said, pressing one hand to his chest again. ‘I’m tired and will need to rest soon.’

  ‘I’ll take you back home then, if you like?’ Max said. ‘I’m leaving soon.’

  ‘That would be great, Max. Thanks.’

  Jake returned to asking Mason Campbell questions about how he’d ended up on the floor of his kitchen. It became clear he had nothing further to offer.

  He left the hospital and hurried to his car. Finally, he was able to play back the recording on his phone. He heard himself telling Campbell and O’Brien he was going outside to speak to a doctor, then …

  ‘Castlemaine.’ That was O’Brien’s voice.

  ‘What?’ Campbell.

  ‘I don’t have to say anything else,’ O’Brien said. ‘We agreed. Something was done to Ava …’

  ‘So? That’s no reason to go weak at the knees.’

  ‘I’m telling you—it’s time. I’m calling it.’

  ‘I’m in the bloody hospital man, how the hell am I supposed to get you anything right now?’

  ‘Get that son of yours to help you,’ O’Brien said.

  ‘Aren’t you overreacting?’

  ‘This isn’t up for debate. I want the amount we agreed on and I want it now.’

  ‘Is it this new copper?’

  ‘I would have preferred the Murphy kid, but no. I don’t have to justify this. It’s over and I want my money.’

  ‘It was over a long time ago,’ Campbell grumbled.

  ‘You had your fun.’

  ‘And you got to live the life of Reilly …’

  Both men fell silent after that. The rest of the recording consisted only of background sounds: machines beeping, muffled voices from the corridor outside the room, rubber-soled shoes
squeaking against lino; until Jake and Max had entered with Mason's coffee and Jake had surreptitiously retrieved his phone and stuffed it in his pocket.

  ‘Yes!’ Jake’s shout of triumph startled a young mother trying to bundle her child into the car next to his.

  While Jake had no idea what the word ‘Castlemaine’ was in reference to—Castlemaine in Victoria? —or precisely what O’Brien and Campbell had been up to in the past, he now knew that the sight of Ava’s mutilated fingertips had forced Liam O’Brien to invoke some kind of long-held agreement for Campbell to pay him off for something related to Ava’s murder.

  Jake couldn’t use this information directly, nor tip his hand to anyone on how he obtained it, but he was on the right track. He could almost smell it.

  His ring tone blared again.

  ‘Murphy? Perfect timing.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I think we might find something of interest in Mason Campbell’s financial records …’

  ‘More bank statements?’

  ‘Follow the money. Half the time that leads you to an arrest.’

  ‘I was calling to say I think I’ve found one.’

  ‘One what?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Everything fits, though I have no idea how she ended up there.’

  ‘Murphy?’

  ‘I searched the national database of unidentified people for the years around when the home closed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘A girl matching the age of the one Charlotte was talking about turned up about eleven years ago. One blue eye, one brown. Claimed to have no knowledge of where she was raised.’

  ‘Where was she found?’

  ‘St Kilda.’

  Damn it.

  Chapter Ten

  District Hospital

  Monday, 2.51 p.m.

  ‘As in Melbourne?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Where else?’ Murphy sounded pleased with him­self. ‘Said her name was Lilith, not Matilda, but everything else fits.’

  ‘Great find, mate. Anything else in the record?’

  ‘When she was found she said she didn’t have a last name, didn’t know where she came from, and had no idea how she ended up there. The police interviewer’s file notes indicate that she believed she was telling the truth. The psychiatric assessment didn’t support her having amnesia, but the psych also said she seemed to be telling the truth.’

  ‘Apart from her distinctive eyes, what makes you think she’s Matilda?’

  ‘She said she lived in a cottage near a vineyard with a huge hedge and other girls but no parents.’

  ‘And they never tracked down where she came from?’

  ‘File says they assumed she came from country Victoria, maybe the hills around the wine country. Says she might have come from one of the hippie communes up there where they don’t believe in surnames.’

  ‘Any way to trace her now?’

  ‘She was adopted out of the foster system.’

  ‘Have you got a name and number for the adoptive parents?’

  ‘Yes an—‘

  ‘All right, send it to me now and I’ll give them a call.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve already left them a message, just waiting to hear back.’

  Fuck. Murphy finally shows some initiative, then goes too far. ‘That’s great, but listen: we want to let this information out in a controlled way, okay?’

  ‘Ri—ight.’

  ‘Have you told anyone else yet?’

  ‘Just the boss.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s keep it to just the three of us for now.’

  ‘Why?’

  Murphy’s edge of resentment had returned.

  ‘We want to see how certain people react when they’re told.’

  ‘What people?’

  Jake took a deep breath. The constable wasn’t an intuitive learner apparently … but he would only develop if Jake took the time to teach him. ‘How about we see if Kelly will approve both of us going to Melbourne to interview her, and I’ll walk you through it?’

  ‘That’d be great!’

  Headed toward the rolling dark grey peaks that surrounded Dunton, Jake had to wonder at how easy it was to manipulate his offsider’s mood.

  An hour later, descending the other side of the mountains, Jake plunged his vehicle from the glorious sunshine of a sunny winter’s day into the blanket of fog that filled the valley, enveloped by a sense that he was entering a hidden world, an otherland of isolation and secrets.

  *

  Returning to the station that evening, Jake first called Matilda’s adoptive parents and then Matilda herself and arranged to see her the following day. He could see Amelia at the hospital first thing, then go straight to the airport. Perhaps tomorrow would yield an all-important clue that allowed him to identify Ava’s murderer.

  Wrapping up work for the day, he received a welcome surprise on the home front—the electricity in his cottage had finally been connected. He switched the reverse cycle air conditioner to full blast and tested the hot water temperature in anticipation of a long, hot shower. Only since moving to Dunton had Jake come to fully appreciate plumbed hot water and touch-button heating; life-changing conveniences he had previously taken for granted.

  With the interview set, flights booked, and meagre backpack ready at the door, Jake was at a loose end for the first time since discovering Ava O’Brien’s body. He opened every cupboard in the cottage’s kitchen, then the station’s kitchenette. Not a single drop of alcohol …

  Pulling up outside Dunton’s only bottlo, he proceeded to meander up and down the aisles, unable to decide what he wanted. Everything looked good, yet nothing stood out. The store attendant cleared her throat. He glanced at a clock on the wall.

  Shit! He’d been there for half an hour. The Chinese he’d ordered would probably be sitting cold on a bench at the RSL by now, and they closed in fifteen minutes.

  He scraped in just as his order was ready.

  Of the three ladies behind the counter Jake particularly liked the shortest one. She was tiny with a shock of pitch-black hair which didn’t move as she rocked her wok over a fierce gas burner surrounded by running water. The tap-tap-tap of her stainless-steel spatula as she tossed and scrapped ingredients over a fierce heat was hypnotic. She broke the spell by yelling as she finished each dish. This alerted the woman who sorted it into containers and then handed it to the third woman who served customers. Jake approved—it seemed an efficient arrangement.

  Although the special fried rice and chicken chow-mein weren’t a scratch on anything to be found in Little Bourke Street, they did offer a warm nostalgia for treasured childhood outings to Jake’s hometown’s RSL with his mum.

  In the tiny but now warm cottage kitchen, Jake vowed to indulge in a gluttonous rampage in Melbourne the following night.

  *

  ‘Ah, Hunter,’ Kelly said brightly as Jake entered the front of the station the next morning. ‘All set for your trip today?’

  Jake did not appreciate such pre-midday exuberance. ‘Packed and ready, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. I had to do some fast talking to get Hobart to approve flights and accommodation for the two of you. Are you certain you need Murphy?’

  ‘I think it’s important for his development,’ Jake said, as his constable opened the station’s front door, a large duffle bag over his right shoulder.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Kelly held out an expensively packaged bottle of spirits he had been holding behind his back. ‘Here’s something to look forward to on your return tomorrow night.’

  Jake examined it—Isle of Islay whisky. ‘Thank you, sir. That’s generous of you.’

  ‘I realised we didn’t have a welcome present for you, not even’—Kelly glanced at Murphy—‘electricity.’

  The constable reddened at Kelly’s rebuke.


  ‘Ready to go?’

  Jake hadn’t noticed Evelyn Kelly sitting in the back corner of the waiting area. ‘You’re coming with us?’

  ‘I thought I’d give you a lift to the airport. It means I’ll be there if you need me when you interview Amelia MacDonald again.’

  ‘I was going to drive us, leave my vehicle in overnight parking,’ Jake countered.

  ‘No need,’ she said.

  ‘Amelia may not react well if she feels she’s outnumbered.’

  ‘The girl may be disturbed,’ Kelly interjected, ‘but I don’t want us to be seen to be neglecting her care, Hunter. We need a counsellor there.’

  Kelly’s tone brooked no argument.

  ‘Of course,’ Jake demurred.

  He would devise a way of keeping Evelyn out of the interview with Amelia by the time they arrived at the hospital. He was still uncertain about the criteria his superior officer applied regarding Evelyn’s counselling services. He had checked her contract, and the station had carte blanche to request her for anyone who came into contact with crime in the Dunton region.

  At first, Jake had suspected Kelly was using the contract as a means of providing consistent employment for his daughter. But that wasn’t borne out by the records. Looking over previous years of invoicing, months went by when Evelyn was rarely engaged. The pattern of her engagement seemed almost random, and certainly not all of the crime-affected citizens of Dunton were offered the service—not even in cases of suicide or unexpected deaths, as Jake would have expected.

  *

  As Jake, Murphy and Evelyn approached Amelia’s ward, they came across Charlotte. She was also on her way to see Amelia with a large cappuccino and a grease-streaked white pastry bag from the hospital canteen in her hands.

  ‘You’re here early,’ Evelyn said.

  Charlotte smiled at the three of them. ‘Work gave me some time off to spend with Amelia. I explained that we’re basically sisters and she needs me.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ Jake said when he realised the other two weren’t going to respond. ‘I’m sure she appreciates it.’

  ‘What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t?’ she said. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘We’ve come to interview her again,’ Murphy said.