‘You knew Bella?’
‘Very well, yes. I hoped we could talk?’
I let him in and left him at the kitchen table while I put some proper clothes on. When I came back out he was gone. ‘Hello?’ I called, my heart racing because that’s what it likes to do nowadays at anything more surprising than toast popping up three minutes after I’ve put it down.
He stepped in from the living room, his sad eyes streaming. He was holding the framed photo of Bella at my thirtieth party. ‘Sorry, I just . . . I hadn’t seen this one.’
I took it from him. ‘Why would you have?’
‘Chris, I – Can we sit?’ He gestured to the kitchen table and I nodded and sat across from him. I kept the picture against my chest.
‘Me and Bella . . .’ he started and then gazed off out the window.
‘You and Bella?’
‘We were in love.’ He held his open hands out to me and I looked but there was nothing in them to help explain. They were pale and smooth, no sunspots or calluses. No nicks or scars. Little boy hands, except for the gold wedding ring.
‘I know it’s a shock. She was adamant about not telling you, not until . . . There were complications and she felt . . .’
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. You were in love with her?’
‘We were in love with each other.’
I didn’t say anything. What could I say? He might as well have told me Bella was an astronaut or Russian spy. He kept talking as though he was speaking sense.
‘It’s been very difficult, because, well . . . my wife is sick. Cancer. It’s not likely she’ll . . . Anyway, I couldn’t leave her. She’s a good person and she doesn’t deserve . . . Bella agreed, of course. She was . . .’ He grimaced. ‘Conflicted. She broke up with me several times, tried very hard to stay away, but we just kept . . . We worked together, saw each other every day. I’m a geriatrician at the . . . She talked about quitting, but it’s not like there are jobs up for grabs around here. But seeing each other all the time, it was just . . . She was ashamed. Didn’t want anyone to know. You in particular. She told me you were her Jiminy Cricket and that if she told you it’d have to be over between us forever.’
‘Stop,’ I said. Jiminy Cricket, for God’s sake! Bella used to beg me to watch her stupid fucking Pinocchio DVD with her and sometimes I did but barely ever with as much attention as she hoped. Fifty times per viewing she’d glance sideways at me and I’d be painting my nails or reading a magazine or maybe even napping a little and she’d nudge me with her chubby little fists and say, ‘Chris, you’re missing it.’ Me, her Jiminy bloody Cricket! God, she was a character.
‘I’m sorry. I know this must be very hard for you, but I’ve been going out of my mind. I’ve lost the person I loved most in the world and I’ve had to act like I’m mildly distressed over losing a colleague. My wife’s been following the case so closely, the TV is constantly on and so I keep seeing Bel, hearing what –’ A huge sob ripped through him and the room went cold.
‘You need to go to the police.’
‘What? No! Oh God, Chris, you can’t think I had anything to do with what –’ He sobbed again, tears running freely now. ‘My wife . . . It can’t get out. I just needed you to know. Because you loved her as much as I did.’
Freezing air. My skin stung with it. I wanted to ask him if he felt it too, but my tongue was ice. If I spoke it would shatter.
He kept pleading with me not to tell anyone, babbling about how he’d been away at a conference in Canberra when it happened and I could check for myself, he’d give me the number.
Key in the lock, the door swung open and the outside air rushed in and thawed me instantly. Or maybe it was Nate who did that.
‘G’day,’ he said, calm as anything in front of this babbling, wet-faced liar. ‘Nate.’
‘Glen.’ The man swiped a hand across his nose and mouth. ‘Sorry, you’ve caught me at a bad –’
‘Chris?’ Nate looked to me. ‘You okay here?’
I swallowed the vestiges of ice water and nodded. ‘I am, but I need you to call Brandis for me. Tell him there’s a bloke here claiming he was in love with Bella.’
‘Mate, please.’ Glen stood up as if that was going to help. He came up to Nate’s nipples. ‘I made a mistake. I’m going to leave now and I hope, look, I’m sorry I upset her so much, I should’ve realised she’d be too grief-stricken to . . . Anyway, I hope you can calm her down, that she’ll be okay.’
‘She seems calm to me.’ Nate hadn’t taken his eyes off Glen. ‘Chris, you calm, babe?’
‘Completely. Call Brandis, hey?’
‘Please.’ The man looked directly at me and those eyes, those eyes, I almost split open with the sadness.
‘You have an alibi. Nothing to worry about,’ I said.
‘My wife . . .’
Nate snorted. ‘Yeah, I think you leaving is a good idea.’ He didn’t touch him, but the man moved as if pushed. ‘Chris, you know his name and all that?’ I said I did. Nate followed the man out the door and locked it behind him. I heard him sobbing out there and the ice came over me again, but then Nate put the fish and chips on the table, knelt beside me and took my head in both hands and kissed my forehead and I was so warm.
Brandis got to my place so fast I wondered if he’d been sitting in his car at the end of the street when I called. He tore into my driveway, parked crooked, arrived at my door with his face dripping sweat. Soon as he was sitting at my kitchen table with a glass of cold water he turned all professional and cool, pretending like he wasn’t excited as fuck about what I’d told him.
‘We interviewed Dr Goodes along with all the staff at the home. Obviously we’ll interview him again. Ask why he lied to us about his relationship with Bella.’
‘Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s lying now,’ I said.
‘He looked fair-dinkum shattered,’ Nate said.
‘Could be he’s delusional. Thinks him and Bella had something more than they did. It happens. If he says no one knew, it’ll be hard to confirm either way.’
Nate squeezed my hand, leant towards Brandis. ‘There have been whispers about something like this though.’
‘A lot of rumours going around, Mr Cartwright. Not a good idea to put too much stock in any of them.’
‘I’m just saying, they must come from somewhere. Whoever’s been saying that . . . Might be that someone did know about this bloke and Bel.’
‘Maybe. First thing is for us to speak to Goodes again. I’ll head round there now.’
‘Don’t go to his house.’
Nate and Brandis looked at me.
‘I mean, can you call him and get him to come to you or something? His wife has cancer. No point upsetting her if it turns out to be nothing.’
Brandis nodded and shook our hands. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
When he was gone, Nate came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders in that way he knew I loved. ‘You’re the softest-hearted little thing in the world, aren’t ya?’
‘Bella didn’t want her to suffer any more than she already is.’
‘Yeah, both of you. A couple of softies.’
‘He said Bel called me her Jiminy Cricket.’
‘Her what?’
‘Her conscience. As if, right?’
‘Nah, you always gave her good advice. I remember hearing you giving her a talking-to, think it was after she’d come back from Sydney that time.’ He stopped rubbing, let his hands rest heavy on me. ‘I can’t remember what you said even, but I remember thinking that I wished you’d take your own advice. That we’d both be better off if we lived the way you expected Bella to.’
‘I don’t remember that. I don’t remember ever giving her advice. The odd ear-bashing, sure, but more often it was the other way around.’
‘Not how I recall it. Obviously not how
she did either.’
‘Do you think it’s true? Could her and that buggerlugs have been . . .?’
He gave my shoulders a squeeze and said lunch was getting cold. So I guess that was a yes.
AustraliaToday.com
Woman attacked in Strathdee near site of Bella Michaels abduction
May Norman
12 April 2015
A woman was assaulted in Strathdee on Friday night in the vicinity where Bella Michaels was abducted before being raped and murdered earlier this month.
The 32-year-old local woman was walking past a small park on the street behind Strathdee Haven nursing home when she was grabbed from behind by an unknown attacker.
Police have confirmed that the man attempted to drag the woman towards a parked car but was disturbed by a passing motorist who stopped on seeing the struggle.
The offender fled the scene in a white Toyota Camry which was later found abandoned outside the Strathdee bus station. Police confirm the vehicle was stolen.
The woman sustained no injuries but was treated for shock at Strathdee Hospital.
The offender is described as Caucasian, aged in his 30s, and of a slight build. He was wearing a dark-coloured hoodie with black jeans.
Police refused to comment on whether this attack might be linked to Bella Michaels’ murder, but locals are taking no chances. On a clear, warm Saturday afternoon the streets, parks and walking tracks of this small, tight-knit community were all but deserted.
Anyone with information about this assault or the abduction and murder of Bella Michaels should contact Strathdee police or Crime Stoppers.
May was about to meet with Chas when the cowardly, married, beloved bastard finally called.
She leant against the outside wall of the Royal, closed her eyes. ‘Craig?’
‘May. Thank God. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I miss you so much.’
‘Why haven’t you called? I’ve been –’
‘I know, I know. Carmel made me take leave so we can work full time on saving our marriage and it’s just been impossible for me to get away for even a second. She’s watching me like a hawk. This afternoon’s her mummy-to-be yoga class though, so . . . God, when can I see you? We need to figure something out, soon.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course.’
‘Craig, you can’t just –’
‘I know you’re hurt, but . . .’
‘I can’t do this right now. I’m about to meet a source. It’s important. I can’t be all fucking teary.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He took a long, deep breath. ‘What are you working on?’
‘Obviously you don’t read my work then.’
‘I can’t read it with Carmel around, can I? You’ve got no idea what it’s been like here . . . Look, tell me about what you’re working on. I want to know.’
‘Woman murdered in Strathdee. It’s this godforsaken truck stop of a town. I’m hanging around straining to come up with new angles on week-old news, hoping there’ll be a breakthrough and I’ll be the last reporter left standing.’
‘Shit. Yeah. I heard about that poor girl. Awful you have to stay there. Is it safe?’
‘Sure. I don’t know. I think so.’ May saw Chas climbing out of a gleaming, dark green ute. ‘I’m going to have to go. When can I –’
‘No, come on, don’t go yet. Carmel’s not due back for an hour and I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to call again. Christ, May, I miss you. We need to find a way to make this work. Right? Right?’
May swallowed a sob. ‘I have to go.’
She hung up, flicked the phone to silent, stepped through the door Chas was holding open for her. The pub was half full. May scanned for Chris Rogers but could see only a scrawny blonde and the ancient owner behind the bar. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and it was all she could do not to reach for it.
‘You right?’ Chas asked. ‘Your face is all pink.’
‘Bad day.’
He led her to a table up the back, pulled out her chair. ‘Something stronger than beer then. You a gin, vodka or whisky girl?’
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m working.’
‘You can’t work pissed? Geez, call yourself a journo.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll have a beer.’
‘One whisky double coming right up.’
‘You’re not a great listener, are you?’
He leant in close, both forearms on the table. ‘I’m more of face-reader. And your face is telling me you need –’
‘I’m not going to get drunk and have sex with you.’
He moved closer. She could smell his smoky breath and count his pale eyelashes. ‘That’s cool. We can do it sober.’
Her phone vibrated again. She pulled it out, pressed ignore. The clock flashed up. Four hours until she had to file. ‘What are we doing hanging around here, then?’ she said.
He blinked, rocked back on his heels. Oh God, May thought, he was joking. He was joking and now I’ve made a complete and utter fool of my stupid slutty self.
A slow smile. ‘Well, alright, alright.’ He nodded towards the door.
As they left May thought she heard someone call out his name and something like ‘good on ya’ – or maybe it was ‘get on her’? Chas didn’t seem to hear it. He kept walking naturally, not touching her or even smiling until they were across the road and in her room with the door locked and the curtains closed against the stupidly bright autumn sun.
May waited several minutes longer than what she thought might be the appropriate amount of time and then nudged Chas’s shoulder. ‘Don’t mean to be rude, but you need to go.’
He pulled himself up onto his elbows and looked into her face. Sweat dripped from between his eyebrows onto her lips. ‘You Sydney girls, always in such a hurry.’
‘I need to work. I’ve got a deadline.’
‘It’s okay. I won’t bother you.’ He rolled to the side, pulled the sheet up over his torso, feigned sleep.
‘Don’t you have a home to go to?’
‘Can’t hear you. Sleeping.’
May went to the bathroom, rinsed off under the shower and dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. She smiled at herself in the mirror and thought it looked real enough. When she returned to the room, Chas was up and dressed, flicking through her notebook.
She took it from him, swatted his arm with it. ‘That’s confidential.’
‘Can’t read your writing anyway. Like a bloody spider’s web.’ He went to the fridge, pulled out a can of beer and cracked it open. ‘Looks like the last one. Share?’
She took the can, slugged some down, passed it back to him. She picked her pants up from the floor and dug her phone from the pocket. Four missed calls from the bastard. No new messages.
‘So what’s the latest on Bella? Is there a suspect?’
She shook her head. ‘Police say they’re following several lines of inquiry. Won’t say what they are. Most people I’ve talked to around town seem to think it was an outsider. Someone passing through.’
‘Makes sense.’
‘Why?’
He handed her the beer. ‘We all know each other here. Well, not personally, but we all know someone who knows someone who knows someone, if you get what I mean. Anyone here who could do that, we’d be aware before now. Word’d get round. It always does.’
‘Always? So you’ve had things like this happen before?’
‘Not like this. That’s what I’m saying. I’ll be the first to admit there’re some shitheads in this place. Wife beaters, daughter rapers, cat poisoners . . .’
‘Cat poisoners? Plural?’
‘Yep. But we know who they are. Sometimes we know because
they’re in and out of jail and sometimes we know because we talk, but either way we know. Like little Tegan. We all knew her husband was a violent cunt. Soon as we heard she was dead we were like, yep, yep, saw that one coming.’
‘Saw it coming. Christ.’
‘What? You think we could’ve stopped it?’
‘I don’t know. Did you try?’
‘Fair go. Didn’t even know her except as that pinch-faced little mouse who worked in the shit bakery, the one you go to on Sundays only because the good one’s shut then.’
‘But you knew her husband was violent?’
‘Yeah, because people talk. That’s what I’m saying. There are a hundred girls working cash registers here – don’t know one from the other unless there’s a reason to. Like, people say, “Did ya see poor Tegan at the bakery? Back from her honeymoon a week and already sporting a shiner,” and you’ll go, “Which one’s Tegan? The blonde with the tits or the brunette with the legs?” And they’ll go, “Nah, nah, the quiet little thing at Morello’s,” and then you know who Tegan is and you know her old man belts her and so each time you need to get bread on a Sunday you see her and sometimes she’s normal and sometimes she looks like she’s never slept and once or twice she’s bruised and you say, “Alright?” and she goes, “Can’t complain,” and you get your bread and walk away and if you bump into someone you know on the way home you tell ’em, “Dickhead’s laid into her again, looks like.” ’
‘Fucking hell, this place.’
‘Point is, you hear about something – bashing, car theft, cat poisoning and go, “Oh, yeah, I bet so-and-so is behind that,” but what happened to Bella . . . Can’t think of a man’d do that. No one here can.’
‘What about Nate Cartwright?’
‘Nah. Barking up the wrong tree there. He’s alright, Nate.’
‘People can hide themselves pretty well, you know.’
‘You can’t hide being that fucked up.’
‘Maybe the more fucked up you are, the better you are at hiding.’
‘By that reasoning it could be anyone.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Could be me.’
An Isolated Incident Page 12
