Catch Us the Foxes

by Nicola West

  ‘What was she saying?’ I asked.

  ‘I didn’t get the full back and forth. I had some music on, but every now and again certain words would float through the window. Mainly, she kept repeating two things: “I know” and “I remember”.’

  ‘Anything else? Anything at all?’

  ‘I think she said something like: “It’s too late, people have already seen it”.’

  ‘Seen what?’ Barry interjected.

  ‘I dunno. She sounded kinda sassy, I guess? Like she was trying to piss the other person off.’

  ‘What about them?’ I asked. ‘What did they sound like?’

  He sighed. ‘At the time, I thought it was two women arguing.’

  ‘You think a woman killed her?’ I asked, shocked.

  ‘Dunno,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘The more I think about it, the less sure I get. Maybe I only heard one side of the argument, y’know? Just her voice?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Like, there were obvious pauses, which could have been when the other person was talking. Maybe they were just talking much quieter than her? I definitely heard someone try and shush her, but that just made her louder.’

  ‘How long did it last?’

  ‘Not long. A few minutes, maybe?’

  ‘Did she scream?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘One minute she was yelling and the next she just – wasn’t.’

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the metallic clangs of the pine needles hitting the caravans. It was the only thing keeping me from imagining the sound Lily’s skull must have made when it caved in. I could feel my lips quivering.

  ‘Why didn’t you know about this?’ Barry asked. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes that I realised he was talking to me.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Surely your father would have told you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s the same reason why the news isn’t reporting it,’ Steve said. ‘It doesn’t fit the whole “killer carny” angle. They’ve got their suspect, why bother looking for anyone else?’

  I nodded. He was right.

  ‘There’s no way to prove what I heard.’ Steve sighed. ‘It’s my word against theirs – and with that fucking blood…’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ Mrs Masters said, tears still spilling from her eyes.

  Steve walked over to her and wrapped his long arms around her shoulders, just as his father had. She clung to him even more desperately and, once again, I felt the urge to turn away. But when I did, I was surprised by what I saw.

  A gaggle of old ladies were standing at the back entrance of the pavilion, staring straight at me. They all looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place them. Kiama was a town that skewed on the older side and was filled with identical looking blue-rinsers. They tended to blend into the background, which – given their propensity for gossip – was a dangerous thing.

  ‘Yoo-hoo, Marlowe, dear?’ one of them called out.

  I responded with an awkward wave.

  ‘Come over here, pet,’ another called, beckoning me closer with her wrinkled hand.

  I held up my index finger and mouthed, ‘Just a sec.’

  I turned back to the Masters. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, but I have to go.’

  ‘You said you’d help.’

  I thought twice about correcting Barry. ‘I’m doing my best here.’

  ‘You don’t give two shits about us,’ Steve’s mother spat.

  ‘Hey,’ Steve interjected. ‘She’s the only person who’s asked to hear my side of the story. Cut her some friggin’ slack.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Barry growled. ‘Probably so she can sell it to the highest bidder.’

  ‘I’m not going to write about it. I promise.’

  ‘Maybe you should write about it,’ Steve replied, earnestly. ‘No one else is going to get my side out there.’

  ‘Marlowe?’ one of the old ladies yelled again. Her saccharine voice echoed around the caravans. I needed to shut her up.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta…’ I pointed behind me.

  Steve nodded, smiling understandingly.

  I turned towards the pavilion. I wanted to help the Masters but if the old lady brigade didn’t zip it I wouldn’t be able to. I still didn’t know where all the police were, and it wasn’t like Marlowe was a common name. I couldn’t risk any cops reporting back to my dad.

  I walked towards the elderly women, racking my mind for a good excuse to explain why I had been talking to Lily’s alleged killer. Something to do with the paper was the most logical, but I had no idea if news of my firing had made its way around town. My dad certainly hadn’t mentioned anything to me but that didn’t mean much. He’d rather pretend something hadn’t happened than deal with the emotional aftermath.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, pet,’ the leader of the group said as I stepped through the pavilion’s arch, ‘but we wanted to catch you before you left.’

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked. I braced myself for the interrogation but, to my surprise, it didn’t come.

  ‘We’ve been trying to get a hold of your father all day, but we keep getting the runaround.’

  ‘We understand how busy he is,’ another interjected, ‘with everything that’s happened. But we really need to sort this out sooner rather than later.’

  ‘There are cops on every gate,’ I said, gesturing behind me. ‘I’m sure if you ask one of them –’

  ‘We have,’ the leader snapped. ‘They’re useless.’

  ‘Margaret!’ one of the others chided.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she said to me. ‘We’re all just a bit on edge.’

  ‘Yeah. I know what you mean.’

  I could see the realisation dawn on her face.

  ‘Oh – I mean – oh – of course,’ she spluttered. ‘This is nothing in comparison to what you’ve been through.’

  The ageing clones all made the same sympathetic noises and nodded their heads.

  ‘Hearing the news itself was bad enough,’ Margaret continued. ‘But to have been the one to find her. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through, Marlowe.’

  ‘And to already be back at work,’ another chimed in, nodding in the direction of the Masters’ trailer. ‘And forced to interview the sicko who killed her!’

  So, news of my dismissal hadn’t made its way around town.

  ‘You’re certainly a bigger person than I am,’ Margaret mused. ‘I can’t even bear to look at those monsters. I have no idea why he hasn’t been arrested yet – he clearly did it.’

  ‘I’m just trying to do everything I can to ensure the truth comes out and Lily’s killer is brought to justice,’ I said. I was somehow able to resist the urge to add, ‘whoever they may be’.

  ‘Now,’ I continued, ‘how can I help you?’

  Without warning, she grabbed my wrist and began leading me towards the main hall of the pavilion. I followed, but it wasn’t like I had a choice.

  The main hall was dominated by everything from clusters of floral arrangements and oversized vegetables to tiered cakes and gaudy quilts. The longer I stood in the area, the more I became aware of the faint hint of decay scenting the air. Flies had descended on the perishing food items and the flowers were slowly starting to wilt.

  The winners of each category were obvious, marked by smaller versions of the sash that had draped Lily’s lifeless body. The same royal blue ribbon had also been slung over prize-winning cattle, swine and dogs. I recalled a photo I had taken of Lily and the winning beef heifer – their matching sashes on proud display. Mark had insisted I take it and, at the time, I’d found the irony absurd. But now it took on a different meaning: two animals judged and rewarded for their breeding and beauty but, ultimately, destined for slaughter.

  ‘You see,’ Margaret began, interrupting my thoughts, ‘normally all the competitors would have picked up their entries yesterday and everything would be packed away by now.’

  I nodded
.

  ‘But the police are refusing to let members of the public enter the gates so we’re stuck with everything.’

  ‘I mean,’ I began, ‘if the cops have said people can’t come in, I’m not sure what you think I can do to change their mind.’ I was frustrated that I’d been pulled away from the Masters for something so pointless.

  ‘Oh no, pet,’ Margaret said, shaking her head. ‘We understand why the police can’t let everyone in. It’s just that we thought it would be nice to decorate the stables with the flowers as a type of memorial.’

  ‘We don’t think they’ll last until the funeral and we didn’t want them to go to waste,’ another woman chimed in.

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, slightly ashamed of my frustration. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  ‘Well, we obviously don’t want to disturb the crime scene,’ Margaret said. ‘But it seems like everyone’s finished there and we’d just like confirmation.’

  ‘We got a different answer from every policeman we spoke to, so we thought we’d better go straight to the top,’ the same woman as before added.

  I nodded, trying to think of a way to ask my dad without admitting where I’d been.

  ‘I’ll ask him.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, pet,’ Margaret said, clasping her papery hands over mine. ‘I’ll keep you in my prayers. I know you’ve had a lot of tragedy in your life but, if you keep following the Lord’s light, I’m sure you’ll find your way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I replied, desperately trying not to roll my eyes.

  I said my goodbyes and turned to the back of the pavilion. Then I froze. Something had caught my attention. Or, more accurately, the absence of something.

  ‘I’m such a fucking idiot,’ I muttered under my breath.

  I stared at the wall of artwork I’d photographed the day before Lily’s death, and finally realised why the inky sketches in her journals had seemed so familiar. I’d seen them before, hanging on the wall in front of me. It was also how I had known about the fox hunters’ attire and the true identity of their prey. Jarrah had been right. The flashes had been memories, but they didn’t belong to me.

  She drew it – she fucking drew it – and hung it for the whole town to see.

  And yet it wasn’t the sight of Lily’s drawing that had reminded me. Instead, I had noticed the blank spot it had occupied. It was the only entry that had been removed, making its absence all the more obvious.

  ‘Um, excuse me?’ I said, turning back to face the women.

  ‘Yes, dear?’ Margaret responded.

  I pointed to the blank space. ‘I thought you said no one could pick up their entries? What about that missing picture?’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t even noticed,’ Margaret said, surprised. Watching the way she struggled to squint at the vacant spot, I believed her.

  ‘That one was gone before we got here,’ one of the other women said.

  ‘Yes,’ another added. ‘It drove me crazy, threw off the symmetry of the entire room. Shoddy planning to leave a gap like that.’

  ‘It had nothing to do with the planning,’ a stern voice called out from behind a row of oversized pumpkins. ‘The entry was removed because it was deemed ineligible.’

  I recognised the voice. It was the town’s mayor, Peter Walsh. The father of the school captain who had assaulted Jarrah, and yet another name on Lily’s list. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been there, but his presence now felt as oppressive as the rotting scent that lingered in the hall.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ I said, staring him straight in the eyes. ‘It was a beautiful piece.’

  A slight twitch in his eye and a stiffening of his posture told me everything I needed to know, but he tried to cover up his reaction by giving a nonchalant shrug.

  ‘Why wasn’t it eligible?’ I asked.

  He spoke exasperatedly, like every millisecond spent talking to me was a waste of his time. ‘Because it was submitted anonymously.’

  ‘Oh,’ I replied. ‘That’s funny. I could have sworn it had a name on it when I saw it.’

  ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I murmured, replicating his smug shrug. ‘Guess I’ll have to double-check the photos I took.’

  The twitch was back. He was clearly rattled. I needed to get back home and check the photos straight away, but his reaction had already given me my answer.

  CHAPTER 28

  I didn’t bother sneaking out of the showground. My presence had clearly been noted by someone on Lily’s list, so there didn’t seem like much point. It also meant that I could exit via the main gate and not have to worry about dealing with the Masters. I felt guilty for bailing on them. But, at that stage, there was little I could do. My time was far better spent on other things – like finding the photos of Lily’s illustration.

  I’d taken the photos early on the first morning of the show, well before the gates had opened. I hadn’t been back into the pavilion for the remainder of the event, so I was unsure when it was taken down. I thought back to Steve’s recollections of the argument he’d heard. Was the picture what Lily had been talking about? The thing she’d allegedly antagonised her attacker with?

  Maybe she didn’t know it had been removed? Maybe it hadn’t been by that stage? I kicked myself for not pinning anyone down. I was unlikely to get any concrete answers after so brazenly rubbing my suspicions in Peter’s face. It had been stupid and sloppy.

  As soon as I got home, I opened up my laptop and began scrolling through the photos. Lily’s illustration was there, just as I had remembered it. Unsurprisingly, particularly given its subject matter, the picture was not a prize-winner. However, I could see that the small label beneath it clearly bore a name. Peter had lied – it was definitely not submitted anonymously. I zoomed in on the caption: ‘Catch Us the Foxes’ by Lily Williams.

  The style was identical to the sketches in her journal, save for extra splashes of colour. It depicted a little girl in a white dress sitting on the ground, her bare legs awkwardly crumpled beneath her. A mass of curls protruded from behind the red fox mask that obscured her face. Behind her, a group of people in traditional fox hunting attire loomed ominously. All wore a larger version of her mask, its black hue a stark contrast against their bright red hunting coats. Some held rifles. Others had whips.

  There were no identifying features but, based on the descriptions in the journals, I knew the one in the centre was supposed to be Michael. A golden hunting horn hung from his gloved fingers and protruding from his breast pocket was the telltale pink plume of a tranquilliser dart. I thought about the journal entry and reflexively rubbed the spot where Michael had plunged the dart into Lily’s neck.

  I felt horrible for even acknowledging it but I experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. The memories weren’t mine. They were never mine. I wasn’t a part of the horrors that took place in that rainforest.

  No repression.

  No brainwashing.

  I wasn’t one of the little foxes that spoiled the vines.

  It was selfish, but I felt more comfortable around my father knowing I hadn’t been part of the cult’s hunts. It didn’t excuse his alleged involvement, but it was a relief to know he’d protected me. I thought back to what he’d said when he’d asked me to lie about the markings – that keeping me out of things was all that mattered. I began to wonder if he still was.

  When I returned to his office to ask about Margaret’s memorial idea, I was prepared for a fight. I made it sound like I’d just randomly bumped into her on the street, but I knew he knew I’d been at the showground. He didn’t say anything, though I wasn’t sure whether that was due to his typical ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ fathering style or because he didn’t want to admit that he’d been keeping tabs on me.

  Forensics had finished processing the scene, and he agreed that the idea was a nice gesture so he gave it his blessing. He radioed all the cops at the showground, telling them about the plan so they wouldn’t give the women any trouble. When he finished, he shouted Nat
han’s name.

  ‘What?’ Nathan’s muffled voice sounded from down the hall.

  ‘C’mere!’

  ‘I’m on the bog!’

  I grimaced.

  ‘Need a favour when you’re done,’ Dad bellowed.

  There was no reply so the two of us sat in silence for an awkwardly long time. The newspaper was still lying on my dad’s desk and I reached for it before smoothing my hands over its crumpled front page. Every time I saw the photo I’d taken, Lily somehow looked more scared. My dad may have kept me out of that forest, but he hadn’t protected her. And he certainly hadn’t protected all those other kids in their blood-red fox masks.

  What had Lily’s journals implied they were?

  Impure.

  ‘It would make a great photo,’ my dad suddenly announced.

  ‘What?’ I asked, looking up from the paper.

  ‘The flowers on the stables. We’re not letting press through so you can snag the exclusive. I bet Mark would appreciate it.’

  There was something in his tone that sounded forced. He knew Mark had fired me and was clearly trying to trap me.

  ‘I –’ I was interrupted by two wet hands slapping against my cheeks. ‘What the fuck?’

  Nathan cackled behind me. ‘Just proving I washed my hands.’

  ‘You’re lucky he actually remembered this time.’ My dad laughed. ‘I’ve had to keep nagging him like I’m his bloody mum.’

  ‘Don’t fucking touch me!’ I barked, wiping my cheeks. My dad and Nathan simultaneously held up their hands in surrender and then laughed at their dual reaction.

  ‘Told you she was in a fuckin’ mood today,’ Nathan mocked.

  I quickly got up from my seat and walked to the door.

  ‘Wait, Lo,’ my dad called out.

  I paused in my tracks but refused to turn around.

  ‘I’m sending Nath up to tell Margaret they can decorate the stables with the flowers and to give them a hand.’

  ‘Piss off.’ Nathan groaned. ‘I’m not a bloody florist.’