The Man in the Water

by David Burton

  Will was in boxer shorts and a singlet. ‘I went into your room but you weren’t there.’

  Shaun stood back up and found the chair again. ‘I came down to look for – you know – evidence.’

  Will grinned. ‘That’s hardcore.’ He crouched beside Shaun. ‘I didn’t think you would after all of that stuff this afternoon.’

  Shaun traced his finger over the trackpad, waking the computer back to life. ‘You mean about my dad?’

  ‘Nah, just about how he didn’t know anything about Tyson.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Dunno. I wanted to ask about the money, but I couldn’t find a way to do it.’ He gazed at the computer screen. ‘You unlocked it!’

  Shaun couldn’t resist a small, proud smile. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  The desktop was blank. Shaun had spent so much time thinking about the password and sneaking down to the office, he hadn’t considered what to do after he managed to open up the computer. It was a sleek, slimline laptop. He was used to his bulky machine that was a few years old.

  Will pointed to the bottom of the screen. When Shaun moved the cursor there, a small row of icons popped up. ‘There,’ he said. ‘His email.’

  Shaun clicked on the mail application, and he was greeted by an inbox stacked with strangers’ names and acronyms he didn’t understand. He scrolled through them, uncertain what he was looking for. The emails spun in an endless stream as he scrolled through, eventually landing on almost two weeks prior, to the day that Shaun had found Tyson.

  But there was nothing. Just paperwork from someone who’d bruised themselves a week earlier. An invitation to an upcoming conference in Singapore. And, of course, a receipt for a flight out of town and back to Brisbane.

  ‘Try searching Tyson’s name,’ Will whispered, pointing to a search bar in the corner of the screen. Shaun did. The cursor whirled, deep in thought, but then: No results found.

  He leant back, wondering what to do next. Perhaps it was better to shut the laptop and leave now. The email, at least, was a clue in Simms’s favour. He’d never emailed Tyson, or even mentioned him in an email to anyone else.

  Will reached across Shaun for the trackpad. ‘Check the trash.’

  They looked at the screen, scanning heaps of spam and advertising email. But there was nothing, again.

  ‘Should we try Facebook?’ Shaun said.

  ‘I guess. But when I’ve looked at his profile before he hasn’t updated it since last Christmas with pictures of his family. I don’t think he uses it much.’

  Shaun went to the Facebook login page. They didn’t have to re-enter a password, which was lucky, but a few minutes’ search told them there wasn’t much to find anyway. Will was right. Simms hadn’t posted anything for a few months, and his feed was a pretty boring stream of family updates and crappy memes.

  The browser history turned up a similarly mundane list of sites the boys weren’t interested in: mining equipment, news articles about business and a Google search asking why his phone wasn’t charging properly.

  ‘There!’ Will lunged at the screen.

  Simms had searched for Tyson Grant.

  Shaun checked the date. It was just a day after Shaun found Tyson in the lake. He’d searched for it around midnight, and he hadn’t looked at anything else. He opened his browser, searched for Tyson’s name, and then quit.

  Will and Shaun looked at each other. ‘What does that mean?’ said Shaun.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Will turned back to the screen. ‘But look, he visits this bank page a few times. Maybe that’s where his account is?’

  They clicked through to the page and were met with a space to log in. They needed a client number and a password.

  Shaun took a stab. He put Simms’s last name under the client number and Bernie1234 as the password. But it was incorrect. The client number, the computer hinted helpfully, was a randomised eight digit number given to Simms when he opened the account.

  Shaun was about to give up when Will started opening the desk drawers. ‘He might have written it down somewhere,’ he said.

  There was a scrappy mess of receipts, pens and forgotten bulldog clips. No sign of a notepad or anything that looked like a client number.

  ‘Well,’ said Shaun, ‘that might be it. We should get upstairs.’

  Will held up a finger and reached over Shaun again, taking control of the trackpad and guiding the cursor across the screen. He clicked on an icon at the bottom. A small window appeared that looked like text messages.

  ‘Yes!’ Will cried, a bit more loudly than was safe.

  Shaun pressed a finger to his lips. ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘Some newer laptops let you send and receive text messages as well. They sync with your phone.’

  Shaun blinked a few times at the screen, slowly scrolling through a long feed of phone numbers, text messages and names. ‘These are his actual messages from his phone.’

  Will nodded, scrolling back up to the top of the message list. There was Sharon Simms. Clicking on it brought up a bunch of short messages that Simms and his wife had sent back and forth.

  Leaving now xoxox

  That was the last one, from Sharon to Simms, just a few hours ago.

  Shaun cringed. It felt wrong to read such personal stuff. Something about the intimacy of Sharon’s xoxox made him feel as though he’d gone a step too far. His gut was telling him that she wasn’t involved in any of this business. Her relaxed poise at dinner, the way she’d laughed so freely at the movie, it didn’t make sense.

  Impatient, Will flicked across the trackpad and clicked on the day Shaun had found Tyson.

  Simms had sent his wife a message just before 5.00 pm. Something’s come up at work. All good, but they’re flying me home tonight. I’ll see you soon. Xoxox

  Sharon hadn’t replied.

  Shaun looked to the side of the screen, at the long feed. Most of the exchanges had names attached to them. He didn’t recognise any beyond Sharon’s, and Simms’s daughters. But in the middle was a number without a name. He clicked on it.

  The entire history was short. It was only three messages long.

  The first was from Simms.

  Thank u.

  That was sent at 5.00 pm the same day Shaun found Tyson. He must have sent it only a moment after the one to Sharon.

  Then, a few days later, from that number back to Simms: Call me.

  Shaun recognised the date on the next message as the day that Simms had been beaten up by Peter. Simms had sent a message at around 7.00 pm. As Shaun read it, he felt his skin crawl, and his blood turned electric.

  Have the stuff. Meet you at IGA.

  That was the final message between them.

  Shaun read it again. And then again. Each time he felt more and more empty.

  His mother had been working that night. She would’ve seen Simms.

  ‘That was the night Peter beat him up, hey?’ Will whispered.

  Shaun just nodded, checking the time again.

  Will looked at his friend. ‘So, Simms sent this message and then Peter …’ He paused, considering. ‘We never did sort out where Peter found him. Maybe at the IGA? Was your mum—’

  Shaun interrupted him, ‘Yeah, Mum was working.’

  ‘Holy crap,’ Will said.

  Shaun felt himself getting angry. ‘She saw Peter bash Simms and didn’t even mention it because she didn’t want me involved.’ The more the pieces came together, the angrier he became. ‘But at that point Tyson hadn’t even turned up. For all she knew Peter might have been right; he might have been targeting his son’s murderer. But she didn’t believe me. She’s never believed me. She just took me to a doctor the next day because she thought I was psycho—’

  Will put his hand over Shaun’s mouth. ‘Stop!’ he hi
ssed. Shaun hadn’t noticed himself getting louder. The house breathed around them, the computer buzzing faintly.

  ‘We don’t know any of that,’ said Will. ‘Okay? We just need to think. We don’t know whose number this even is.’

  Shaun swallowed, forcing himself to calm down. ‘Okay,’ he said, whispering again. ‘So, who?’

  Will stared at the number, as if that would turn it into a name. ‘I don’t know. Maybe Peter?’

  ‘Why would he call Peter?’

  Will shook his head. ‘I don’t know – he’s our only other suspect.’

  Shaun’s mind was blank. He couldn’t think of anyone who Simms would contact. He could only think of the IGA and his mum being on shift.

  ‘It’s not my mum’s number,’ he said. ‘But maybe she’s got another phone.’

  Will grinned. ‘Mate, your mum’s a badass and everything, but I don’t think she’d have a silent number.’

  Shaun wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

  ‘The point is,’ Will said, ‘that number belongs to someone who knows something. Those are weird messages to send to a stranger. Simms had “stuff” to give to whoever it was.’

  Even if Simms was completely innocent, the whole thing was weird. Shaun stared at the screen. ‘We should memorise the number. We don’t have our phones to take a picture or save it.’

  They recited the number to each other a couple of times. It took them a few minutes to get it down, but they only had to remember it until they got back upstairs and could key it into their phones.

  When they were done, Will glanced at the corner of the screen. ‘We should go to bed. We’ve been down here for ages.’

  Shaun closed the browsing windows and quietly shut the laptop. His heart was still pounding, but it seemed more distant now. He felt as though his brain was under water. The trip down to the office had been nerve-wracking, but he half-glided back up the stairs, with Will close behind. The house seemed less dangerous now that they had conquered some of its secrets. Will paused at the door to his room.

  ‘Hey, ah …’ He looked away. ‘I was wondering if I could sleep in your room?’

  Shaun almost didn’t hear the question. Will had muttered it so quietly in the darkness. He moved closer so that Will could hear him properly. ‘Look, Simms isn’t going to come after us with a knife. Peter beat the crap out of him. He’s fine. He would’ve come down to the office if he wanted to get us.’

  Will stared at the carpet. ‘Yeah, maybe. But it’s not him – I just – this place is so quiet. And I’ve never slept in my own bedroom before. Even when we go away I still share a room with my cousins and sisters and that. I’ve never fallen asleep by myself.’

  Shaun smiled. After everything Will had done for him, this was the least he could do.

  ‘No worries,’ he said.

  Will looked up and grinned. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. Will went back into his room, grabbed the pillow and quilt from his bed, then followed Shaun into his room. He made a small nest for himself on the floor. Shaun offered him the bed, but he shook his head.

  They just lay there. Shaun was thinking about Simms and his mum and Peter and, every so often, Megan’s smile and her sadness. And occasionally he was reminded of the lump on the floor beside him, eventually snoring into the night.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Will, his face a few inches from the painting. ‘What does it mean?’

  It was the first time they’d ever been in an art gallery. At first, they’d found the space intimidating. The way the vast open halls echoed was dizzying. There was a huge pool of water in the middle of the building, filled with hundreds of large silver balls. It was strange, but exciting.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Shaun, trying to read the explanation written in neat lettering beside the painting. ‘It’s probably a symbol or something.’

  At dawn, Will had moved back into his own room. Neither of them had slept particularly well. The house was just too quiet. Still, the early morning had passed easily enough. Showers. Awkward, polite conversation round the breakfast table. At Tenner’s urging, they got ready and he drove them to the art gallery, passing towering buildings and a thousand cars. He had dropped them in the main foyer and they were to meet up again at the cafe for lunch.

  Shaun had never felt so free and so miserable at the same time. He felt as though he had a whole city at his feet, but Megan wasn’t here to enjoy it with him. And worse, his own mother had lied to him. He was sure of it. More than the mystery phone number, he was bothered by the idea that she had witnessed the bashing and not told him. She expected him to tell her everything, but it was okay for her to lie. It wasn’t fair.

  He was thinking about her secrets when Will pointed at the large painting. They stood in front of it now.

  At first, all thoughts of the rest of his life disappeared. He gasped under his breath and moved closer.

  It was hard to believe it was a painting at all. The whole thing sparkled with detail. A half-naked man lounged lazily in a swimming pool. Shaun was lost in the water. He wanted to swim in it. It was the blue of perfect summers. Swimming-pool blue. So blue it sang to him.

  ‘It’s called Bad Dad,’ he said, reading off the white plastic card. ‘It’s based on the Greek myth of Narcissus. About a guy who fell in love with his own reflection and drowned himself.’

  Will nodded slowly, considering. ‘Rriiiigghhhtt.’

  They both stood, transfixed.

  ‘It makes me want a pool,’ said Will. ‘The lake’s so crap.’

  ‘Particularly when dead bodies show up,’ Shaun added.

  Will grinned. Then Shaun started laughing, and Will did too. The sound of their laughter bounced off the walls and they couldn’t stop. It suddenly all seemed so ridiculous. An elderly security guard stared at them, but that only made them laugh harder. Will eventually grabbed Shaun and led him out, still laughing, past the pool with the silver balls and into the light of the courtyard, where their laughter could be free.

  They decided to go to the cafe early and wait for Tenner. They ordered large milkshakes and sat outside, watching the birds fly onto the tables and scavenge for food.

  ‘I can’t believe we have to do a debate tonight,’ Will moaned, slumping into his seat. ‘It’s gonna be so crap. We haven’t even talked to Megan.’

  Shaun’s milkshake was long gone, but he still held on to the straw, chewing one end until it was all he could taste. ‘I know. But at least we got to come here.’

  Will’s face suddenly lit up. ‘Hey! Actually, that’s what I was meaning to tell you. I was thinking last night, you know, about everything, and trying to figure out who Simms has been texting. And I realised that he must have gone to see Mum to draw out the money on the day he got bashed!’

  He presented this point with a flourish, raising his arms in victory.

  Shaun was struggling to see the connection. ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘You don’t get it? Simms texted the mystery person about having the “stuff”. I bet you that’s money. He was getting cash to pay someone for helping him move the body. And then I thought about the very first message he sent: Thank you. He was thanking someone who helped move the body, and then paid them off a few days later.’

  Shaun’s eyes narrowed. He bent the straw in half and brought it up to his mouth again. That did make a lot of sense. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘But what if we’re wrong? What if there’s some easy explanation for everything? Simms was nice last night.’

  ‘He wanted to get in your head. Talking about your dad and all that. And it sounds like it worked.’

  ‘I’m just saying, we could be wrong.’

  Will shook his head. His expression was serious. ‘He wanted to frighten you. That, and this stuff with your mum thinking you’ve lost it, all of it’s starting to make you doubt yourself. We’ve got the evidence. I’m telling you.
It’s always been Simms. We’ve known that since the first day we saw him.’

  Shaun was quiet. He was watching an ibis tear into leftover banana bread two tables away.

  Will took a final slurp of his milkshake. He must have realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Shaun, so he changed the topic. ‘I like this place,’ he said. ‘We should come here again when we do schoolies.’

  Shaun rolled his eyes. ‘Ugh. I haven’t even thought about schoolies. Mum probably won’t let me go. My grades’ll suck.’

  Will hit him playfully on the arm. ‘Shut up. You’ll be fine. We should start saving. The hotels book quick.’

  Shaun thought about the money, the flights and the food. It was impossible. He also thought of his mum, alone in their house, going to work each day.

  Will gestured past the art gallery. ‘Tenner said there was a theatre over there, hey?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘I was thinking maybe I could do that, hey? Like, be an actor or something?’

  ‘For real?’

  Will was embarrassed. ‘Yeah. Well, you all say I talk well in debating. And I was watching that movie last night and I thought, like, that’d be pretty cool.’

  Shaun laughed. ‘Pretty crap film, though.’

  ‘Yeah, but, you know. Not that movie but, like, other ones and TV and plays and that.’

  ‘You’d have to do drama. And they don’t offer senior drama at our school.’

  Will was tapping the edge of the table with his thumbs. ‘I was thinking I could talk to school about studying long distance.’

  Shaun couldn’t see how Will would ever become a famous actor. No-one famous had come from their town. Still, it was the first time he’d heard him talk about the future. ‘Cool,’ he said.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Shaun’s brief thought about being a lawyer or a detective was too embarrassing to mention. He’d been a pretty lousy detective so far.

  The only dream he’d had for the future was to run away with Megan, live on a big property somewhere, and get married and have kids and be happy. She was lost to him now, for sure.