by Nicola West
I’d been particularly upset because Lily had received multiple tickets from her parents. Sure, it was because her family actually had the space for a pony but, to my young mind, it was further proof that a gross injustice had been committed. To her credit, Lily did what she could to right the injustice – by giving me half of her tickets. Neither of us won that night, but it was enough to sate me.
Every year Lily repeated the gesture – going so far as to only buy tickets for me – and, despite my protestations the older I grew, it became something of an inside joke between the two of us. But, surprisingly, the joke was never at my expense. Anyone else would have held it over my head and used it to remind me of what an obnoxious brat I used to be. But that wasn’t how Lily worked – she gave me the tickets because she genuinely wanted me to win. She was selfless like that.
We never won but I always felt a surge of hope when the winner was drawn. I didn’t even want a pony any more, but you’d never know it as I carefully memorised each ticket number and silently willed it to be read aloud. I’d missed the drawing that night, but deep down I knew my number hadn’t been called.
I wiped my tears away before carefully placing the tickets back in my pocket. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the messages. Each was more desperate than the last, but I couldn’t blame the townsfolk for their callous curiosity. The carnies getting drug-busted or caught up in a brawl was seemingly the most logical guess. After all, it had certainly happened before. But no one would have suspected there was a body; least of all Lily’s. That sort of thing just didn’t happen here.
Only Dan’s message inquired about my own safety, so I replied to him, confirming that I was fine. I wanted to tell him more, but the words never felt right. It just wasn’t the kind of news that could be conveyed via text. I came up with an alternative.
Don’t worry, your carny mate didn’t get busted.
He replied.
i was kinda hoping he would tbh
that stuff was shit
I sniffed my hair to make sure it didn’t reek of pot – after all, I was about to spend the next few hours in the company of police officers – but was instead greeted by the faint scent of my coconut conditioner. I inhaled deeply. There was something comforting about it.
‘The mo looks good on you,’ a cocky voice teased.
I dropped the strands of hair that I’d been holding to my upper lip.
‘At least one of us can grow one,’ I replied, smirking at the baby-faced constable who’d appeared by my side. He feigned offence, but I knew he actually loved it.
CHAPTER 6
I’d known Nathan since he’d graduated from the Goulburn police academy several years earlier. He was a typical country boy with a broad accent and a less broad perception of the world around him. He’d apparently struggled academically but excelled at the physical and practical work the academy offered. He was also rumoured to have raised a few red flags during his admissions process, leading him to be assigned a mentor during his first station placement. That mentor was my dad.
He’d never outright said it, but I always believed my dad saw Nathan as the son he’d never had. With my own interest in the world of policing dwindling the older I grew, my dad needed someone to look up to him again. Nathan was the perfect candidate, enthusiastically listening to the stories I’d long grown tired of hearing.
Sure, he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he was the kind of guy who’d have your back when a situation turned violent. My dad had spent years bemoaning the quality of recruits coming from the academy – more book-smart than street-smart – and so he always had a soft spot for those who would unthinkingly put their lives on the line. Some would call it bravery, others stupidity.
I got along with Nathan fairly well, all things considered. We’d both lost a parent young and clearly bore the scars in adulthood. We had the same type of combative and competitive relationship a brother and sister would have, but things seldom turned nasty. We were both prone to foot-in-mouth moments and wore our emotions on our sleeves. The only difference was that I had learned how to handle the aftermath. In contrast, I don’t think I’d ever heard Nathan say the word sorry.
Which was why I shouldn’t have been shocked when I hopped into his police car, and he began rummaging through the fast-food packaging littering the floor. Naively, I thought maybe he was embarrassed by the mess and was haphazardly cleaning up but, when he threw a Red Rooster bag at my face, I realised my mistake.
‘If you need to spew, do it in there. If even a speck of it gets on the car, I’ll bloody clean it up with your hair.’
‘Piss off,’ I said, throwing the bag back at him.
‘I really thought you were made of tougher stuff, Lo. That was the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen in me life, and you’re spewing your guts up like a pussy.’
‘Beautiful? That’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever said, and that’s saying a lot!’
‘S’true though. Did your dad ever tell you about my first body?’
I sighed. ‘Probably…’
‘Oh, you’d remember it if he did. Ninety-eight-year-old woman with no family. Was dead for a month before anyone noticed anything. During a real bad heatwave, too. She was fuckin’ liquefied.’
My stomach lurched.
‘She’d sunk into her mattress – like, she became her mattress. Human bloody soup.’
He saw the look on my face and threw the bag back at me. I was worried I might actually need it.
‘Worst thing I’ve ever seen in me life, but I didn’t spew, and neither did your dad.’
‘Do you want a fuckin’ trophy?’ I snapped. ‘Besides, I didn’t throw up because of Lily, I threw up because I’d just got off a ride. I get motion sickness. It’s got nothing to do with me being a “pussy”.’
He held his hands up in surrender, ‘All right, calm down.’
‘And you didn’t even know soup lady. So you can’t possibly know what it’s like to suddenly find the body of someone you’ve seen almost every day of your life, can you?’
I didn’t let him answer.
‘I mean – fuck – up until my mum died, Lily was my bloody best friend! So even if I did throw up because of her, I think it’s justifi–’
Tears bit at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly turned my head away. The last thing I wanted was for Nathan to see me cry. He sighed deeply, and we sat silently for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he broke the silence.
‘Fuck, Lo. I dunno what to say. I’m really sorry.’
‘Just take me to the station.’
The trip was short, but the awkward silence was making me impatient. The main street of Kiama scrolled past my window – desolate and decaying – a ghost town in the making. There was a palpable tension in the air, and Nathan awkwardly shifted in his seat. He was obviously uncomfortable but finally deployed a trick he must have learned from my dad – he pretended nothing had happened.
‘There’s probably a reason why your dad never told you that story.’
I ignored him, but he continued.
‘I might not have spewed but I really struggled with the whole thing. The smell stayed with me for days, no matter how many showers I had or how much deodorant I sprayed on meself. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. It was affecting me real bad.’
In the reflection of the passenger window, I caught myself rolling my eyes.
‘And because I kept talking about it, suddenly I’ve got a mandatory appointment with the bloody department shrink, who says it’s all in me head. Saying I have PTSD or some shit.’
I slowly turned to face him, caught off guard by the admission. He kept his eyes on the road and pulled the car into the station’s driveway.
‘Finally, your dad tells me to use a nostril trimmer because the smell’s stuck on the hairs. Only problem was, I’m not an old fart like him so I didn’t have one. So I go rooting underneath me bathroom sink and find me girlfriend’s Nair…’
‘Oh, go
d,’ I said, trying not to laugh.
‘Yeah, dunno how you ladies put that shit on your undercarriage, it would melt a bloke’s balls off in a second. But I didn’t know that, did I? So, I start sticking it up me nose, and the next thing you know I’m in emergency with second-degree burns.’
I started cackling wildly. A genuine guttural laugh that descended into a coughing fit.
‘All right, it’s not that funny, Princess Pukey. Still haven’t lived it down at the station. But you know what? The smell went away, didn’t it? Shows what those psychologist fuckers know.’
‘It also explains why you can’t tell that this car smells like the tip.’
‘Oh shit, really?’ he said, reaching into the centre console.
He pulled out a can of cheap deodorant and began spraying the car. I dived out the door to avoid smelling like a high school locker room.
CHAPTER 7
We may have arrived in the driveway of the police station, but – technically – we were also in the front yard of my home. My dad and I had lived in the station’s neighbouring lock-up cottage since my mum died. It was supposed to be a temporary measure – a way for my dad to still work while he raised a child on his own – but the town soon grew accustomed to having a police officer on the grounds 24/7. Kiama police station was never intended to be constantly manned and before we moved in the nearest permanent police presence was over twenty minutes away.
The cottage and the station both dated back to the late 1800s, and it certainly showed. Our home was in a constant state of disrepair, cold and damp on even the hottest days of the year. But the thing I hated most about it was my dad’s open-door policy. My home was never truly a home. Instead, it was a glorified extension of the police station, perennially filled with strangers from all walks of life. It was not uncommon for me to leave my bedroom and discover a high-ranking police official raiding my fridge, a grieving widow using my bathroom, or a crim in cuffs curled up on my lounge.
And yet, as I stood in the driveway that evening, the cottage never looked homelier. The distinction between it and the station was now like night and day. One contained a soft and cosy bed where I could sleep off the night’s horrors, while the other contained a harsh and sterile interview room where I’d be required to relive them over and over again.
‘Come on,’ Nathan said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘The detective’s waiting.’
I begrudgingly followed him.
The detective had a large coffee stain on his shirt, a splotchy shape that tugged at my mind like an inkblot test. There was something eerily familiar about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It added a dishevelled air to a person who was supposed to command authority but it also put me at ease. This wasn’t the hard-boiled interrogator cop shows had led me to expect.
‘G’day, Lo,’ he said, standing up from the desk and extending his hand. ‘Nice to see you learned how to do your hair yourself.’
I shook his hand hesitantly, and we both took our seats. I had no idea what he was talking about.
He sensed my confusion. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Sorry.’
‘No worries. S’pose it’s been a while now. I’m Bob Leary.’
The name was familiar – Dad had obviously spoken about him before – but I still couldn’t place him.
‘What’s this about my hair?’
‘Oh, when you were little I found you by yourself, bawling your eyes out. When I asked you what was wrong, you said you couldn’t do your hair.’
‘When was this?’
‘It was at your old house, so it’s going back a bit. Must’ve been…’
He paused and scratched the coffee stain. I finally realised what it reminded me of – the pool of blood emanating from Lily’s skull.
‘Uh, it was Tabitha’s wake, actually.’
‘Oh,’ I said, trying to dull the all-too-familiar gut punch I felt at the mention of my mother’s name.
‘Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to be such a downer.’
‘No, it’s okay. I just don’t really remember anything from back then.’
He nodded slowly. ‘From memory, the issue was that your dad didn’t know how to do your hair how you liked it – only your mum could – so you were upset that you didn’t look your best for her.’
‘Oh,’ I repeated. I didn’t know how else I was supposed to react.
‘I found my wife. Well, ex-wife now – I’ve since traded in for a younger model,’ he winked, ‘and she did it for you.’
‘Yeah, I don’t remember any of that.’
‘Do you remember Tabith… uh – your mum?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted. ‘Sometimes I think I have memories of her, but I realise they’re just based on photos or stories I’ve been told. I guess I have memories of other people’s memories?’
‘Well, she was a beautiful woman. Inside and out. You look a lot like her actually.’
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
‘Anyway, I’ll try to get this over as quick as possible, Lo. I know you’ve had a rough night and just want to go to bed.’ He paused and smiled. ‘At least you don’t have far to go.’
I retold the night’s events to the detective in the exact way I’d recounted them to my dad, obviously omitting any mention of seeing the markings. I had also not told either about my brief encounter with the carny and Dan behind the Hurricane. I’d promised them I wasn’t a narc and I was determined to keep my word. Besides, it wasn’t pertinent to the case in any way so I wasn’t too worried.
When the detective found out I had taken photos of the show that night, he asked me to show him on the camera. I thanked my lucky stars that I’d been smart enough to take out the battery. My dad still had no idea I had taken photos of Lily’s body, and anyone else finding them would know it had been tampered with. I carefully removed the camera from my bag, placed it on the desk in front of me, and went to great lengths to show I was trying to turn it on.
‘It must be dead,’ I said, with feigned frustration. I was terrified he was going to ask for the memory card. Technically it belonged to the paper and wasn’t mine to hand over, but I didn’t know if that would fly as an excuse.
‘Aw, no worries,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing there, but make sure you keep all of them just in case we need to corroborate anything.’
‘Will do,’ I said. I hoped I didn’t sound too relieved.
While the detective wrote up my statement to be signed, I asked him what I needed to do with my clothes. He looked bemused.
‘Wash them?’
‘Aren’t they evidence?’ I asked.
‘I mean, did you touch the body?’
‘No!’
‘Then they’re not much use as evidence.’
‘What about my shoes though? Don’t you need to rule them out with other footprints at the scene?’
He sighed loudly, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows. ‘You watch too much TV, Lo.’
A knock on the door startled me, and Nathan appeared. He was holding a plate of Vegemite toast, cut into triangles, and a mug of hot chocolate.
‘Before you go, you need to finish these,’ he said, placing them in front of me. ‘Your dad insisted.’
‘Oi, where’s mine?’ the detective asked, before stealing a piece off my plate.
I stared down at the blackened toast, sliced into perfectly manageable portions, and realised that I would never be taken seriously by anyone in that station. I’d forever be a child – that little girl crying at her mum’s wake because her hair wasn’t right.
CHAPTER 8
After I’d read and signed my statement, and begrudgingly finished my meal, I was finally able to leave the station and go home. The interview hadn’t been what I’d expected. They hadn’t asked me anything about my relationship with Lily, just the cold, hard facts of how I’d come to discover her body. I guess I should have been relieved that they clearly didn’t con
sider me a suspect, but it seemed sloppy. Wasn’t the entire point of a murder investigation to treat everyone with a certain level of scrutiny? I felt uneasy. If they were that lax with everyone they’d never find her killer.
It wasn’t like I didn’t have a motive. Anyone who knew us would know we’d been competing since childhood. For the most part, things had been pretty equal, particularly at school, but once we entered the real world Lily kept pulling ahead. After a mere month of us both interning, she’d been granted a paid role at the local paper. She was also awarded a prestigious scholarship at uni, despite us both having the same high distinction average. And the real kicker? She’d been offered a cadetship at a national newspaper and had been due to start in a few weeks.
Sure, her role at the local paper would need to be filled – and likely by me – but that didn’t mean I wasn’t frustrated. She was finally going to escape this town while I was still trapped. Hell, people have certainly killed for less.
I obviously didn’t do it. But they didn’t know that, did they?
I opened the front door of the cottage and was greeted by the damp smell that I’d come to associate with domesticity. No one was home but that wasn’t surprising. I knew my dad would likely be at the showground well into the morning.
I kicked off my boots and flopped down on my unmade bed, landing on something hard. I stared up at the horror movie posters that lined my walls then pulled my laptop from under my spine and opened it. A gallery of the previous day’s photos appeared on the screen. I removed my camera from the backpack and plugged it into the laptop. Before I knew it, I was looking at Lily’s body again.
The wounds on her back looked even more gruesome on the screen, and the gravity of what I’d done finally hit me. It was wrong to have taken the photos in the first place, let alone now that my dad had made me promise not to tell anyone about the markings. And yet, in a way, his behaviour almost justified the photos’ existence.
