A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3)

by Elisabeth Rose

  She nodded once and headed for the front door. He cast a last look around the small room, taking note of the cream carpet, the couch, the polished wood book cabinet with the photos on top, TV, two easy chairs and a coffee table. Comfortable and unassuming.

  What had gone so wrong?

  ***

  Mia closed the door on Arlo with a sigh of relief and realised her hands were shaking. The whole time he’d been in the house she’d felt as though she were under a microscope. Not even the interview for her first job had made her feel so unsettled. Something to do with his eyes, the penetrating way he looked at her or the way he listened intently to what she said. She wasn’t used to that from anyone. From a man. But he was a highly seasoned and experienced journalist. He could fake interest and empathy with the best of them.

  Should she have let him in? Yes. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but her father deserved to have his story told and she was the only person able to do it. No-one in Taylor’s Bend had known him for very long. From her research and a vague recognition of his name, Arlo was one of the best and it was a stroke of luck he’d chosen to settle here.

  He’d been at the funerals, both of them, and because he’d known her father he was allowed into the chapel rather than kept outside with the visiting press. Arlo had offered his condolences and she’d listened to his words but been struck by the wide set grey eyes and unruly, thick brown hair, greying at the temples and sideburns. His skin was tanned, with lines around his eyes and mouth. A gauntness to his face and body explained by the long illness. Mid-forties. In other circumstances she’d be attracted but she’d pushed any such thoughts away that day as totally inappropriate.

  But that was then and this was now and the same stir of interest was lurking. Single. He said ‘I’ not ‘we’ when talking about his flat. Her grandmother always said if a man wasn’t married by thirty there was something wrong with him. He’d either be a mama’s boy or he had odd personal habits. Which was Arlo? And what did that make her, a single, never married woman in her late thirties?

  Few locals had made the journey to Wagga for her father’s funeral and at least half of the sixty in attendance were old friends from Sydney. Even Linda, one of the aunties, came, sniffing into tissues and hugging Mia fiercely.

  ‘I don’t believe he did it,’ she’d said darkly. ‘He wouldn’t harm anyone. He didn’t have a vicious bone in his body. You know that and so do I, Mia.’

  Mia had nodded and thanked her but the words had stuck and it was shortly after that the dream started.

  Glenda’s family, the locals, the police and now Arlo thought the matter was clear cut. A murder suicide. She had too, through the haze of grief. A domestic violence crime of the worst kind. An outwardly well-liked, loving man suddenly kills the person closest to him and then himself. What else could she think?

  Since the dream began she wasn’t so sure.

  Had Linda put the idea in her head? Did she want so desperately for it to be true she believed a dream over facts?

  The police forensics found no evidence at all to indicate a third person had been in the kitchen apart from the friend who’d called in later and found them. The time of death was put at about half an hour previously. One neighbour was deaf with the TV blaring, the other side were at work, over the back were away. No-one heard or saw anything unusual. It was her father’s licensed gun, his fingerprints alone on it, and the wounds told the sad story. No sign of a struggle. He’d shot his wife in the chest and then put the barrel to his own head. A hideous crime.

  She hadn’t told anyone about her doubt. She knew what the police would say. They needed more than a feeling and the evidence from the dream of a bereaved daughter to reach a different verdict. It was a tragedy. Case closed.

  Mia shivered. The rain had turned from mist to proper drops while she’d spoken to Arlo. He’d get wet walking home. Was he the man to tell? That was why she’d let him in, and if he hadn’t come to see her she might have gone to his office—to covertly interview him, see if his was a sympathetic soul.

  He hadn’t been completely honest with her. Why hadn’t he mentioned the shooting incident in the strife-torn African country? Colleagues he knew well had been killed. He’d had a rough time over the last four or five years. After his return from Africa, suffering from a debilitating illness, he’d had a long, slow recovery.

  No wonder he’d chosen to live quietly in rural New South Wales. How would he react to her theory based as it was, solely on a dream?

  The bottom line was she was nearing the limits of her sanity and if she didn’t do something she’d fall through the rapidly fraying fabric into madness. Would Arlo be able to save her? Would he want to?

  Chapter 2

  When Arlo left Mia he went to the police station to have a chat to Rupe. After John Helger, the friend who’d called triple 0, Rupe had been first on the scene that night. He had no specific questions, just wanted Rupe’s impression of the case. Was Tony depressed? How had they reached that conclusion when there didn’t seem to be any evidence of suicidal tendencies, or of prior violence?

  Shannon looked up from behind the reception desk when he walked into the red brick station building, dripping water from his anorak onto the lino. Under her sternly lifted eyebrow he reversed, took it off and shook it out on the small porch.

  ‘Can I come in now?’

  ‘Wipe your feet,’ she said. ‘Got a problem to report, Arlo?’

  ‘No. Anything interesting happening on the crime scene?’

  ‘Not a thing. Too cold for the criminal class to be out at night.’

  That would be the teenage graffiti artists and vandals looking for some fun.

  ‘G’day, mate.’ Rupe came out from his office with a sheaf of papers.

  ‘Can I have a word, please, Rupe?’

  ‘Sure. Shannon, can you take care of these please?’

  She took the papers and threw Arlo a questioning look he ignored.

  In his office, door closed, Rupe grimaced when he told him why he was there.

  ‘I’d just like to know a bit more about the case. For example how you, the police, reached your decision that Tony was depressed. I want to know why he did it.’

  ‘Do you think the finding is incorrect?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’m just trying to understand what happened. We all knew him and he never gave any indication of suicidal tendencies or violence.’

  Rupe nodded. ‘I know. He had no record. No evidence of fights, or abuse or violence, I mean. No-one could report any indication of marital discord. Quite the opposite. Her parents said she was as happy as they’d ever seen her and Tony was good to her. They were planning a trip to Greece and they were both excited about it. John Helger said he’d told Tony he’d drop in one evening and Tony said any time. It wasn’t just a police decision, the coroner based it on the medical report as well.’

  ‘So he was being treated for depression?’

  ‘No, he’d seen Doc a couple of times for help sleeping.’

  Arlo rubbed his chin. ‘It doesn’t mean he wasn’t depressed.’

  ‘No, I agree and Glenda would have walked out straight away if there was any hint of violence.’

  Arlo shook his head. ‘You know as well as I do we like to think an abused woman would but it’s very difficult.’

  ‘You didn’t know Glenda as well as the rest of us did. She’d give as good as she got especially after Barry walked out on her. Abbie said she told the book group once she wasn’t about to put up with more crap from a husband. She said she and Tony were best friends which she realised was really important as they aged.’ Rupe rubbed his chin. ‘That’s what makes this so … weird.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mia yet? You know she’s back, staying at the house?’

  ‘Yes, I heard but I have no reason to talk to her and she hasn’t contacted me.’

  Arlo nodded. ‘What do you think happened, Rupe? Mia seemed to have some sort of … doubt about it.’

  ‘So yo
u’ve already seen her.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘We have to go by evidence and facts and they point the same way. If she thinks we’re missing something she should have spoken up before.’ He paused a moment. ‘One of Tony’s ex-girlfriends said at the time she thought it was a double homicide.’

  ‘Really?’ Arlo snapped upright. ‘She thinks they were both murdered? Why?’

  ‘Women’s intuition? Her gut feeling? Call it what you will. She insisted he would never do anything like that but she hadn’t talked to or seen the man for fifteen years and we found no evidence whatsoever that anyone else was in the house at the time. John arrived at around eight.’

  ‘How did he get in?’

  ‘Knocked then went in, called out hello, because Tony knew he was coming. He’d been there before. The lights were on, door was unlocked. People do that here. He was pretty shaken up.’

  Arlo nodded but went back to the girlfriend.

  ‘Did she have any reason why anyone would want them dead?’

  Rupe shook his head. ‘She wanted us to find out. The detectives investigated but as I said, they came up with nothing. The family was well-liked in town, no fights, no disputes.’

  ‘Money troubles?’

  ‘The house was paid for. Both had steady jobs. Nothing obvious.’

  ‘So she’s wrong.’

  ‘I think it’s very hard for all of us to accept that someone we knew and liked, and in her case loved, could do something like that. But it happens.’

  ‘Why did he own a gun? He wasn’t a farmer and selling real estate in Willoughby isn’t very dangerous.’

  ‘Willoughby Gun Club member. He bought the pistol he used a few weeks before he died. Had a rifle before that but sold it, said he didn’t like using it.’

  ‘So it was a fairly new thing since he moved here?’ Other people took up golf or cycling or bowls. But why not pistol shooting?

  ‘Apparently. He said a client had told him about it and he thought it sounded interesting. It’s a long process to be licensed.’

  ‘And rightly so. Got a name for the client?’

  ‘Alan Brown. Why?’

  ‘Background,’ he said. ‘What’s her name, the woman who thought it was murder?’

  ‘Arlo … what are you doing?’ Rupe’s tone altered. ‘Are you planning to stir this up again? Can’t we move on?’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s worth another look? Doesn’t something feel wrong to you? A loose end … Did you look at Glenda’s ex, for example?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Arlo. Has Mia Petros put you up to this? Is she asking you to investigate?’

  ‘No, I promise. Yes, I talked to her but I approached her, not the other way around. I want to do a piece on Tony. Tell his story, his background from her point of view. Let people know he wasn’t a monster. Remind them what he was like and focus on the depression aspect. She agreed. I don’t want to cause trouble but I think he deserves some sympathy. I know a psychiatrist I can ask for a comment on depression and tie it in with a link to Beyond Blue. You have to admit suicide is a big problem in rural areas.’

  Rupe nodded. ‘I can’t stop you but do me a favour? Let me read it before you print it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Police censorship? What happened to freedom of the press?’

  Rupe didn’t reply. Instead he regarded Arlo, unsmiling, until Arlo said, ‘All right. As a courtesy but it’s not going to change what I write. What’s the woman’s name, the ex?’

  ‘Linda Karas. Ask your friend Mia about her. Now go away and bother someone else. But not John Helger, his wife’s not well.’ He glowered at Arlo.

  Arlo grinned. ‘Thanks, mate. This’ll be fairly low key. I’m not planning to rip the town apart. By the way, what’s with the symbol on the front doorframe of Tony’s house?’

  ‘I didn’t see one.’

  ‘You would have if it was there last year. It’s two crossed swords about so big.’ He held up his hands as a measure.

  Rupe sighed. ‘That’ll be Coral.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Coral, the local psychic who dabbled in all things supernatural.

  ‘No idea. Look it up or ask her.’

  Back at the office Arlo went straight through to his flat and changed his sodden shoes, socks and jeans. It was pouring down out there now. Then, mug of tea in hand he did a computer search for Linda Karas. Plenty of possibilities there but none fit the age group and probable home town. Asking Mia would be easiest.

  He looked up the symbol. It was used in witchcraft amongst other things and according to the source he’d found meant opposite viewpoints. Conflict, arguments, negativity. A stalemate or pause in action.

  The office door flew open letting in a stream of damp air and Georgia.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I have some great photos of Les and Sal and the great grandees.’

  ‘Good. Write it up and the front page is done.’

  Georgia disappeared to dump her wet coat in his laundry. When she returned she sat down at her desk and said, ‘How do people manage to stay married for sixty-five years?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, I only did eight and a half. They have to stay alive for starters,’ he added.

  ‘Mum and Rupe probably would if they have enough time. They’re sickeningly happy.’

  ‘They’d make all sorts of records if they got to sixty-five years together,’ Arlo said as he scrolled through the results of another Linda Karas search.

  ‘Yeah, they’d both be about a hundred and eight. What are you doing?’

  ‘Research. You know Mia Petros is in town? She’s staying at the house.’

  ‘The house?’

  He nodded.

  ‘How can she sleep there?’

  ‘She said it doesn’t bother her. She never lived there.’

  ‘Maybe but still … that’s weird. Two people died in the kitchen. Her father …’

  ‘Do you think it’s haunted?’ he asked straight-faced.

  She gave him a scathing look. ‘Don’t be mad. Do you?’

  ‘No, but there’s something … I spoke to her today. I was expecting her to tell me to piss off but she didn’t.’

  ‘Used your charm on her, did you?’

  ‘No, well yes, but she wanted to talk to me. I said I’d like to do a piece on her father to help redress the balance of public opinion in town.’

  ‘Is that a good idea? The man was a murderer and making excuses for him … I don’t know. When that sort of thing happens you always read statements from people like “He was so nice. I worked with him for years and he was a great guy” as if their opinion negates what the guy did—attacked his ex-girlfriend and beat her to death because she dumped him. They obviously have no idea what the guy was really like and how could they? Some of these men are really cunning. And they lie. No-one knows what really goes on inside a marriage. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘I’m not intending to make excuses.’ He did believe her. Georgia knew better than anyone how cunning a criminal could be. She’d lived with one and suffered the consequences.

  ‘Good, because making excuses for them as if they couldn’t help it and should be pitied makes me really angry. Where’s the innocent victim in all of that?’

  ‘But what about the reason Tony did it? This is different. We know this wasn’t a case of a bitter, frustrated man spurned by a woman he loved and wanting revenge, or a woman dumping a guy she didn’t want to see any more and being stalked. Or the act of a twisted psychopath. This marriage was happy, these two were happy together. Glenda had a big support network—the whole town would rise up in her defence—and she was a strong independent woman. If he’d been abusive she’d say so. If this really was a case of depression, of mental illness, Tony needed help.’

  ‘Plenty of people get depressed but don’t kill other people.’

  ‘And they need help too.’

  ‘The whole thing is hideously sad,’ Georgia said after a moment. ‘I liked him. Not that I knew him well but I did that interview with him
in the piece we did on newcomers to town. I guess if you focus on the mental illness, help needed aspect it shouldn’t upset people.’

  ‘That’s right. The last thing I want to do is condone his actions in any way. Pull out that article, will you, and anything else you can find in other newspapers, online or TV? And go through all your photos and see if you have any of him we can use.’

  The tragedy had created a mild stir of interest but didn’t go nationwide for more than a day or two.

  Photos. The funerals. Georgia had taken photos at both funerals. Mia could easily point out Linda Karas. He found the file and scrolled through till he found Tony’s funeral. Mia was there looking very alone, her body stiff and reserved, aloof. There were several shots of her speaking to locals including John Helger, but he was looking for unfamiliar faces. Tony was fifty-eight when he died, his daughter would be mid-thirties at most so he must have been very young, around twenty-two or three, when she was born and twenty-eight or nine when his wife died. Depending how quickly he moved on, ‘Aunty Linda’ would be at the very least, ten years older than Mia, minimum of around forty-five now. Right.

  He isolated four possibilities and sent them to his phone.

  ‘How would someone get away with murder disguised as suicide in a case like this?’

  ‘What?’ Georgia looked up in surprise. ‘Do you think they were murdered?’

  ‘I doubt it very much but one of his old girlfriends told the police she was sure it was murder. It does happen you know. Probably more often than has been uncovered.’

  ‘That’s a whole other story to what I thought we were talking about,’ she said indignantly then grinned. ‘I knew you’d get bored with small-town news.’

  ‘I’m not bored. Covering the primary school sports day and the CWA doings is fascinating.’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind having a chat with the woman. Her name is Linda Karas.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Not sure. Sydney maybe. I’ll ask Mia.’