She looked over at Moira, propped up in her chair like a tiny pillar of ancient history. An idea came to her. There might be an old file about Tessa’s death. There must be one. It was a big thing in the life of the school. A huge catastrophe. There must have been lots of correspondence and statements taken and risk assessments performed. If she could find it, she could see what sort of investigation had been done, and she might be able to put her mind at rest about Dr Brownley. Maybe the police had already gone over his every movement.
‘Moira, I’m doing some research for our school reunion. It’s on in a couple of weeks. Do you have the key to the archives?’ Emma felt her heart beat speed up a little, but she kept her gaze steady.
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Could I borrow it? I just need to get a few things from 1993.’
‘What research are you doing, dear? Perhaps I can help.’
‘No, it’s fine. I just want to get the yearbook and photos of the major events that happened in our year. Thought I’d take the files back to the cottage tonight to see what I can come up with to give Leah. She’s organising some memorabilia for everyone.’
‘Alright, well pop in and see me later, dear. I’ll take you through the archives and we can find what you need.’
‘Thanks,’ said Emma, turning back to her computer. Bugger. She stared bleakly at the screen. There was no way Moira would let her take the investigation file home. She’d have to sneak in when Moira wasn’t there. She pictured herself slinking into the archives in an Angelina Jolie catsuit in the dead of night, then she shook the image from her head and adjusted the waistband of her pants. It wasn’t a pretty thought.
Twenty
Emma
As Emma walked along the path to Moira’s office, she wondered how Rosie was feeling. She’d seen her at lunch time, slumped on the grass under a tree with her eyes closed. She’d complained of a headache and of feeling sick. Emma was surprised she hadn’t asked to go back to the cottage and lie down. She was probably enduring it because she had a double French class in the last two periods. It was Rosie’s favourite subject and she excelled at it. Emma had hated languages at school and found Rosie’s devotion to her French studies somewhat perplexing.
At the entry of the old cottage building that housed Moira’s office, Emma peered through the screen door. Moira sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, her head drooped to one side. Intermittent gurgling snorts were coming from her half-open mouth. Emma wondered if she could find the key to the archives and get out the door again without waking her. She eased open the screen door and the loud squeak made Moira jump.
‘Oh, Emma dear, you startled me. I must have dozed off. Don’t tell anyone, will you, dear? They’ll retire me if I’m not careful.’ Her movements were slow, but as she pushed herself out of the chair, Emma noticed that her eyes gleamed with an iron intent.
‘Of course not. I’m the same after lunch,’ said Emma. ‘Just wondering if I can get into the archives for those files for our class reunion?’
‘Yes, now, let me get you the key.’ Moira moved across to the desk and fumbled in the top drawer. She brought out a bunch of three keys on a ring and held them up. ‘Would you like me to take you now, dear?’
‘I can go on my own if you’re busy.’
‘Piffle. I’d love to help you.’
‘That would be great,’ said Emma flatly.
They set off across the grounds to a tiny old timber building surrounded by lavender bushes, which had once been the original schoolhouse. Now it was a kind of museum, although only open to those with special access privileges. Inside, old sepia-toned photographs of the school in its infancy lined the walls in dusty antique frames. She read the caption under the first photograph: Miss Elliot, Miss Williams and students on a picnic at Wells Creek, 1897. Two women in high-button-neck dresses and full skirts stood to the side of about a dozen teenage girls in similar outfits. In the background were picnic blankets and two horses tethered to a tree. Emma wondered how on earth they had traversed the rough Tasmanian bush in such unsuitable clothes.
‘Over here, Emma,’ said Moira. Down the far aisle, behind a row of old metal shelves, she was pointing to some boxes that were marked with the months and years that they related to. The sunlight streamed in from a small window and on the top shelf Emma could see that three of them were marked ‘1993’. Moira pulled a small stepladder from against the wall and motioned for Emma to carry it.
‘I’ll leave you here for a bit, dear. Just need to pop in and see Ms Given about some uniform orders.’
Emma couldn’t believe her luck. ‘Alright. Thanks, Moira’.
Emma dragged down the first box and in it she found documents from the Board of Education that looked like some sort of official register and copies of documents evidencing the registration of teachers. Underneath there was a yearbook and all sorts of correspondence that didn’t look particularly interesting. She left it on the floor and pulled down a second box. There it was. Right on top.
Investigation into the Death of Tessa Terrano.
It was a thick hanging file, once belonging to a filing cabinet. She opened it. Dozens of documents were piled on top of each other and underneath were several photographs of the trench and the building site where Tessa had fallen. She flicked through the documents. There were letters to and from the building company about the failure of the fencing; insurance letters covering the school against potential liability in case the family took legal action and handwritten notes from various people. She stopped as she came to a typed document marked Record of Investigation into Death. It was an official looking paper marked with Coroners Court at the top. Emma scanned the page.
* * *
RECORD OF INVESTIGATION INTO DEATH
TESSA ESTELLA TERRANO
Report Date: 15 May, 1994
* * *
The deceased was an eighteen-year-old girl who attended Denham House School in Buckingham Road in Lenah Valley, Hobart, as a weekly boarding student. At approximately 4.51 p.m. on Thursday 25th November, 1993, the deceased was found at the bottom of a 3.5-metre-deep excavated trench that had been dug the previous day by an external building company, Telpinero & Linden, in preparation for pouring foundations for a new academic building at the school. The deceased was a senior student who attended the school and was just days from graduating. She was well-liked and a talented musician and singer. On the day in question the deceased was last seen at approximately 3.40 p.m. when she told other students in her after-school drama class celebration that she felt unwell and was going to return to the school’s boarding house where she resided. Upon questioning from her teacher, Ms Linda Telston, the deceased reported that she ‘felt dizzy’ and somewhat ‘foggy-headed’ and thought she was ‘coming down with something’. Miss Telston suggested that she go to the sick bay and ‘check in’ with the nursing sister on duty. The deceased did not attend the sick bay, according to the nurse on duty that day, Sister Peggy Drewry.
Subsequently, at approximately 4.45 p.m., the mother of another senior student, a Ms Harriet Andrews, attended at the school office to say that in the course of walking across campus to fetch her daughter Clementine Andrews, who she believed would be in the art room, she had seen a school bag inside the high plastic barriers that formed the safety fencing around the building site. Ms Andrews had noted that at one point the barriers were slightly apart. Cognisant of the ‘keep out’ signs, Ms Andrews then attended the office and spoke with Miss Moira Ryan who was attending the front office reception that day. She suggested that someone should investigate why the bag was inside the barrier. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Miss Ryan attended the building site and went inside the barrier, where she noticed the deceased body lying face up in the ditch. Miss Ryan reported that the deceased’s eyes appeared to be partially open. Unable to render assistance due to the inaccessibility of the deceased’s location, Miss Ryan raised the alarm at the office and called an ambulance. Ambulance and police services attended
the scene. The fire brigade also attended due to the difficulty of reaching and rendering assistance to the deceased. Miss Ryan reported that one teacher who was walking near the office after she raised the alarm, Mr Jonathan Brownley, risked his own safety by jumping into the hole to render assistance before the ambulance and fire brigade arrived. Mr Brownley attempted to resuscitate the student using CPR chest compressions. The deceased was, however, unresponsive and was later pronounced dead by ambulance officers at approximately 5.50 p.m.
Post mortem revealed a skull fracture and a serious neck injury, as per the medical examiner’s report appended to this document, consistent with a fall from 3.5 metres. It appears that the deceased entered the prohibited area for some reason unknown, possibly out of curiosity. Due to a dizzy spell she may have suffered or due to reasons unknown, she fell and struck her head on one of the large rocks at the bottom of the hole. It was noted by police that her left shoelace was undone as were three of her shirt buttons beneath her tunic. There were no injuries on the deceased apart from those consistent with having been sustained in the fall. It was confirmed by the coroner that there were no indications on post-mortem that the deceased had engaged in any recent sexual activity. Her stomach contents revealed that she had not eaten on the day in question and this may have contributed to her reported feelings of dizziness. It was thought that the untied shoelace may have contributed to her tripping and falling. I am satisfied that a detailed police investigation has taken place into the deceased’s death and that there are no suspicious circumstances.
* * *
Emma scanned the next paragraph, keeping one ear towards the door. It discussed inadequate fencing and made recommendations for future action and culpability of the building contractor. The words blurred. Only one thing stood out. Jon Brownley had been there, near the scene. He might have been with Marlee earlier, but he hadn’t been with her when the body was found. She flicked over the pages. There was a draft statement by Moira Ryan for the Coroner, and some other documents to do with the court.
A post-it note with faded handwriting caught Marlee’s eye. It was on the top of Moira’s statement to the Coroner: Michelle, this is a copy of the draft that I will fax to the police station. They are going to ring me about it tomorrow. Is this alright?
Michelle… Emma wondered who she was. Then it came to her. Michelle Sharp. Sharpy. The Principal of Denham House in 1993. A line at the bottom of the page of Moira’s statement jumped out at her: Mr Brownley was so upset he somehow got down into that hole and tried to give her CPR. It was a very deep trench. The fire brigade had to help him out as he couldn’t get back up and he was very distressed when he was brought out.
Emma was so caught up in reading the document, it took her a moment to register that a shadow had fallen across the boxes. A voice made her jump.
‘Did you find what you wanted?’ Moira was standing at the end of the aisle, blocking the light. Emma slammed the file shut but as she lifted it into the box, the Coroner’s Report slipped out and landed face-up on the floorboards. Emma snatched it up and returned it to the file.
‘Yes, thanks, Moira.’
She picked up the 1993 yearbook that was sitting on the top of the first box and held it aloft. ‘Got it. Let me just put these away and I’ll get out of your hair.’
Emma’s heart was hammering. She climbed the stepladder and lifted the boxes back into place. When the final box was returned, she collapsed the stepladder and looked up. Moira’s hands were clasped together and her eyes were alight with a peculiar, unblinking intensity. Then the old woman turned and motioned for Emma to walk ahead of her towards the door.
Twenty-One
Marlee
A taxi pulled up outside the winery and the driver wound down the window.
‘Cab for Chadston?’
Ben nodded at him and opened the door for Marlee before walking around the cab to get in the other side.
‘That went well.’ Marlee smiled. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. ‘Salamanca Warehouse Apartments then on to Sandy Bay, please, driver.’
‘Really well I thought. I’m looking forward to starting the project.’ Ben grinned at her.
Marlee was pleased it was dark. His closeness was making her face warm and her heartbeat speed up.
‘What was the wine like? You guys were drinking their awarded 2012 vintage the sommelier told me.’
‘It was excellent. Your health kick is admirable in the face of such incredible plonk, Ms Maples.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s me. Admirable.’
‘I would have joined you in a dry night but I couldn’t let our biggest clients drink alone.’ Ben’s eyes twinkled at her.
‘You have a spot of red wine on your shirt,’ said Marlee, leaning towards him and touching his chest with her finger. The smell of Ben’s aftershave gave her a warm, delicious tingle and she closed her eyes. Suddenly his lips were on hers, gently, then firmly. He brought his hand to her face then around into her hair, drew her towards him, their tongues meeting in an urgent frenzy. Marlee felt herself dissolving into him. Her hand traced the line of his chest, then his back. She pulled him closer, wondering if he would regret it this time. She knew she wouldn’t.
Ben pulled back and looked at her seriously, his index finger resting under her chin. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that every day since the first time it happened.’ Then he leaned forward and kissed her again and every other thought was banished from Marlee’s head.
Too quickly Marlee felt the car pull to a halt, and she realised they were at the waterfront bedside the entry to her apartment. Ben looked at her longingly.
‘My cousin is visiting from interstate. She’s sleeping on the couch. And since the loft bedroom opens above the mezzanine… she’d hear every word we said.’
‘I wasn’t planning on saying much. I’d be as silent as a church mouse.’
‘That sounds like no fun at all.’ Marlee held his gaze.
‘Driver, we might need to keep going to Sandy Bay, I think.’ Ben raised his eyebrows in question.
Marlee let her hand graze over his crotch and grinned. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr Chadston. The best you’ve had all day.’
Marlee pulled the corner of the blind aside and looked out onto the dew twinkling across the grass in the bright morning light. She could see straight up into the front window of Harriet Andrews’ lounge room. She dropped it back into place, sat down at the kitchen table and drew the blanket up over her lap. She had eventually worked out how to turn on the heater in Ben’s living room but it was still cold. She opened the issue of Green Magazine that was lying on the table and began to flick through the pictures of beautiful modernist homes as she sipped her tea. She couldn’t concentrate. Images of her love-making with Ben were playing like a soft porn video in her head – the sheen of his chest, the exquisite sensation of his lips on her nipples that were newly swollen by her pregnancy.
The thought of the baby jolted her back to reality. She still couldn’t believe that her appointment with Anna-Beth the week before had gone so well.
‘Great news, Marlee. Your CVS test has come back all clear. The baby looks perfect.’
Marlee had put her hand to her mouth and given a small squeak. ‘Really?’
Anna-Beth gave her a warming smile. ‘Yes, really. Are you feeling more settled about having the baby?’
‘A little. Although on some days I still feel really unsure. It’s a relief to know it looks healthy though.’
‘How are you feeling generally?’
Marlee had sifted through the well of emotions. ‘A bit terrified actually.’
‘Would you like to know the sex? Sometimes a bit of knowledge can help with that.’
‘Oh God! Really?’
‘I can keep it secret if you prefer.’
‘No, I want to know!’
‘You’re having a boy,’ said Anna-Beth with a smile.
Tears began running down Marlee’s face.
‘T
hank God for that!’ she said, sobbing and laughing at the same time. ‘Girls can get themselves into so much trouble.’
Since that thrilling moment last week, Marlee had felt the fractures in her heart piecing back together like a jigsaw. With each passing day she realised more clearly that her little baby boy was a gift. She couldn’t believe she’d considered a termination. The idea now made her feel sick.
She had named the little boy Ned and in the bath the night before she’d whispered secrets to him. She felt a happiness taking hold, and now that the morning sickness had eased up, she felt physically better too. But there was no getting around the problem of how she was going to tell Ben. She didn’t know what was going on between them. But after last night she thought it might be something special.
She looked down at her belly, covered by the t-shirt she’d found in the pile of clean washing in Ben’s room. She’d thrown it over her head when she got out of bed. Her hand crept underneath it and rested on the firm, faint swell of the baby. Nobody else would notice yet, but she couldn’t keep it a secret for too much longer. She needed to decide what to do. What if he didn’t want it? What if he did?
She had closed the bedroom door to let Ben sleep on. But now she was stuck. Last night they’d had to tiptoe down the side of the house so as not to wake Harriet. But she couldn’t risk walking out through Harriet’s front garden in the daylight until Ben could go out and check that her car was gone. It wouldn’t be right to flaunt Ben’s sex life in front of Harriet – even if she had been a total cow the last time they’d met.
Good Little Liars Page 18
