Crossings

by Ashley Capes

  Lisa stood on the step, hammer in hand, until the sound of his engine faded to black.

  Chapter 8.

  Lisa was on the phone with Steph the next morning when a knock rang through the house. Gerry was waiting on the doorstep, hat in hand, and she waved him in as she finished up the call.

  “I’m sorry, we had a plumbing emergency,” Steph said. “Typical Monday morning.” The clatter of cutlery and dishes filled the background. “So, are you doing okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Lisa paused. Clint’s face had been so, so pale. Nothing like the way the man really looked. “I thought the job might prepare me for death a bit, you know? But a human body... it’s not the same.” She glanced at Gerry, but he was studying the paintings on the wall. “Are you guys okay?”

  “Oh, honey. We’re fine. Want me to come over on my lunch break?”

  “How about I make you dinner instead? You’ve been so good to me lately.”

  “Deal. You just pick a time,” she said.

  “How about next week? Maybe Friday?”

  “Great, see you then.”

  Gerry turned to her. His expression was apologetic. “I heard. I’m sorry, Lisa.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, it is; I leaned on him pretty hard.”

  “Don’t worry. And Mrs Anderson was fine about the letterbox. Told her I’d pay for it,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “Did you want a drink?”

  He shook his head. “Look, I can back off a bit if you like. I’ll still watch him, though. I know what he’s like.”

  “Maybe.” She tried to smile. She didn’t really want that, but if the visits kept provoking Ben, then maybe.

  “All right.” He rolled his sleeves over his forearms and leaned against the counter. “Actually, I did want to ask you something about Clint.”

  That pale, dead face flashed before her eyes again, and her hand tightened on her cup. “Okay.”

  “I checked at the morgue and there’s some evidence that it was an animal attack.”

  “What?” Lisa put her cup down with a frown.

  “That’s why I wanted to see you. That gash had rough edges.”

  “Claws?”

  “And we don’t have bears here.”

  “You think a kangaroo did this?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t know, Gerry. There’s a record of someone dying from a kangaroo attack up in New South Wales. A hunter back in the ‘30s, I think it was. It’s pretty rare though.”

  “Well, I can only tell you what I’ve been told,” he said. “If it’s true, the doc thinks it was a big one. Really big.”

  Big like Pumps’ Great White Roo? That was even less likely. “It still doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Want to take a look at the site, anyway? I’m not sold on it myself, but I want to rule it out. We’re certain the wound didn’t come from a blade.”

  “I’ve got a couple of jobs today but I’ll push them back if you like?”

  “Thanks, Lisa. It’s probably a waste of time, so I appreciate it.”

  “Can’t hurt to look.” She smiled this time then made the calls before joining him in the police car. A St Kilda Football Club air-freshener hung from his rear-view mirror, swaying with the turns as he drove out of town, eyes on the road. “So, any more animal parts on your doorstep?”

  Trees flashed by in green streaks. “Not yet.”

  He glanced at her before returning his attention to the road. “Expecting more?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Thought about a camera?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It can be expensive, but you can get motion-activated ones. Wireless. Saves battery and space on your computer. That way you’ll know if it’s Ben.”

  “Maybe I should.” But the idea of letting Ben drive her to all that...maybe not.

  He pulled into the truck stop. “Think about it.” His gaze met hers. “I could...I could let you use our discount.”

  Had he been going to say something else? But he didn’t elaborate. “Thanks, Gerry. I’ll definitely think about it,” she said and hopped out, following him to the weathered bench.

  The Land Cruiser was gone and in its place, white and blue police tape criss-crossed the area. He lifted one section and she ducked beneath, moving to the grass where she’d found Clint. Not all the blades had sprung back up just yet.

  She stepped into the trees and searched the ground; no sign of tracks. No droppings, no torn earth. No fur left behind. If a roo had attacked Clint, there would have been evidence of it somewhere. Maybe even signs of grazing or droppings, but nothing suggested that.

  Gerry kept a few paces behind. She widened her search but still nothing.

  She rose from where she’d crouched by a half-sunken rock slab. “Maybe the killer used something that wasn’t steel.”

  “No sign of roos?”

  “None. They would have torn up the earth a bit when they took off,” she said, rising and dusting her hands against one another.

  He sighed. “All right, let’s take you back then.”

  “Disappointed?” she asked as their feet crunched over the leaves.

  “An ice addict means two lives ruined, you know?”

  “You think that’s what happened.”

  “Still too early to tell.” He held branches out of her way. “But someone that out of it could have used anything. Didn’t have to be a knife.”

  It was harder to keep Clint’s face out of her mind. They drove back in silence, a comfortable silence, and Lisa thanked him at the front door before heading inside and collecting her cleaning gear. Then it was into the Holden and off to the first job.

  By midday, she’d pulled into the bakery.

  Ronnie was roaring with laughter when she opened the door, bell chiming with her entry. His customers smiled along but the snub-nosed fellow before the register, clutching a brown paper bag, was red-faced.

  Billy Brown. “Bullshit,” the young man said.

  “No, Billy, you’re talking rot. The police don’t have it in for you, they think it was someone on drugs,” said Ronnie.

  “So why they been around twice already?”

  “Look son, your pies are getting cold.”

  Billy shook his head.

  Someone lowered their voice. “Who’s keeping an eye on your sheep, then, Billy?”

  “What?” He whirled on the other customers but no-one spoke and he eyed them each before storming out. Lisa gave him room and approached the counter to put in her order over snickering, some of which came from the high school kids. Too bad it was the holidays – they were always underfoot this time of year. But that wasn’t fair – was it that long ago that she’d been bored enough to visit the street just to see her friends and do nothing? Maybe not.

  “Ronnie, can I have a steak, bacon and pepper pie?” she asked.

  He snapped his fingers. “Sure thing.”

  She selected a coke from the fridge while he readied her lunch, then handed over a ten. “Thanks, Ronnie.”

  “Before you go, I’ve heard something that might interest you,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Heard about your strange problems.”

  “With the kangaroos?”

  “Yeah – and the blood and guts part.”

  A little shiver crept along her shoulders. Was everyone listening now? “Have you heard who did it?”

  He drummed his fingers on the glass counter. “Nope, but I ran into Phil this morning and he said he saw someone carrying a bag down your street the other day when he was on one of his midnight jogs, the fool. He’ll get hit by a car one of these days.”

  “Really? Is he still at work?”

  “Should be.”

  “Thanks, Ronnie.
I’ll go see him.”

  She took a seat in the bakery, pressed up against the window like a display in a museum, ate her lunch then headed for the general store.

  Phil was out back when she rang the plump little bell beside the register. He was wiping his hands with a purple-stained towel when he exited the storeroom. “Lisa, good to see you.”

  “Hi, Phil. Having a bit of trouble back there?”

  “Dropped my cranberry juice.” He shook his head. “I was enjoying it too.”

  “Always the way.” She grinned. “I just spoke to Ronnie and he said you saw something in my street?”

  “I did.” He tossed the towel into a bin and rubbed at his stained hands as he spoke. “I was out jogging. It didn’t really register until after Stacey at the Post Office told me about your problem. I thought it was pretty damn strange.”

  Good to know the small town gossip train was working at its usual peak levels. “Think it could have been my ex?”

  “Shorter than Ben, I think. And he was a bit far away, just dressed in black and carrying a pretty big bag. That’s why I noticed him.”

  “Well, I guess that’s good.” Though if it wasn’t Ben himself, it didn’t mean Ben didn’t put someone up to it. If he was even involved. The alternative was still worse. Someone random. Someone she didn’t know. Some freak. If that was it...shit, why?

  “Doesn’t look like you think it’s that good.”

  She offered a small smile. “At least if it’s not Ben it means he’s not crazy.” Just drunk. And violent. “Well, thanks Phil, I better get back to work.”

  “Sure thing.”

  By the time she finished her cleaning jobs – covering Pete Ascot’s fox again – it was dark and she rushed home to leap into a hot shower. Afterwards, she paced the kitchen while a pot of pasta bubbled away. Gerry was right about the camera. Or at least, about trying something to find out what was going on. Maybe it was worth getting something, maybe not as elaborate as he had in mind, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what her options were.

  But tomorrow – now she was going to get some sleep. And to hell with whoever it was leaving things on her step.

  She climbed beneath soft blankets but left the hallway light on.

  Chapter 9.

  Nothing tainted her front step the next morning but the backyard was a different story.

  Another dead body.

  This time a koala, its grey form slumped against the clothesline. Its dark nose still bore traces of moisture.

  She sunk to her knees beside it, stroking the fur. “What happened to you?”

  No answer, just like the others. Poor guy. And even though there were no obvious wounds, it was not an accident. No fires in the hills to drive him out, no eucalypt in the garden. A nature reserve ran behind Chambers Street but it was hardly bushland. Lisa climbed onto the back fence.

  An elderly couple walked the trail, arm in arm. The woman blinked at her. Lisa smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hello dear.” They moved on.

  Lisa scanned the reserve. Nothing stood out. Everything was as it should be. Green grass just turning yellow, a few Banksia bushes and a winding walking path of pale gravel. A mystery, just like the mythical white roo. She shook her head and started to climb down.

  Wait.

  A hole rested at the base of her fence. She hauled herself over, thumping onto the grass. The hole was empty, deep, exposing the buried wire. Bigger than anything a rabbit would dig. Whoever made it had obviously given up. From the rear, the fence was too high so she walked around.

  Gerry was knocking on her front door again.

  “Gerry?”

  His face was grim when he turned. “Lisa, your Dad’s in hospital. He had a fall.”

  She froze. Dad had fallen? “Where? Is he all right? Which hospital?”

  “He hit his head.” Gerry led her to his car. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

  Lisa jumped into the cruiser. “What happened?” She laced and unlaced her fingers in her lap. Just like Mum used to. Gerry backed out of the driveway, put his foot down and the engine roared. He flicked the siren on and cut through the traffic, explaining that her father had fallen down the steps at the post office. Lisa barely heard the rest. It didn’t make sense. Dad was usually pretty good on his feet, how had this happened?

  “You know, it might be for the best,” he was saying.

  “Huh?”

  Gerry slipped around a log truck, using the only overtaking lane on the winding road. They were heading out of town, toward Yarsdale, the only hospital in the area. “Have you thought about seeing if he’ll go into a home?”

  She did. Sometimes. But weren’t there other options? There had to be. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s probably the right thing.”

  “It’s a rotten thing, Gerry.”

  He winced at her words, but continued. “But you can’t care for him, can you? If he’s getting worse. You can see that, right?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to do it. To reduce him like that.” She shook her head. “Just collapse him down to a single room and a handful of possessions. I don’t want to take him from his home and transform him into a...a patient. If he goes there that’s it – God’s waiting room. He’s only just turned seventy, damn it.” Lisa slapped the passenger arm.

  He was silent a moment. “I’m sorry.”

  “No-one called me.”

  “Well, I saw it happen and I got him into the ambulance.” He glanced at her. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  She sighed. It wasn’t his fault. “No, I’m sorry.” She was lucky he’d been around. He was pretty great like that. Back when she finally reported Ben, when she finally left him, Gerry had been the one to chase Ben out of town. And especially since Dad got sick, Gerry had found a way to check on her regularly.

  Lisa squeezed his arm where it rested on the shift. “And thanks.”

  He nodded.

  They drove on with just the growl of the engine and the shriek of sirens until Yarsdale appeared, its old-fashioned buildings and big verandahs flashing by until the hospital appeared, a white blur through the tears that had sprung up. He had to be all right. Had to be. Come on, Dad.

  Gerry had them in the right ward quick smart, then he disappeared to find coffee and a nurse was suddenly taking Lisa to Dad’s bed, pulling back the curtain...

  Her heart flipped.

  When did he get so small?

  All the white sheets and pillows propping him up, as though they were keeping him alive. She half-ran, half-stumbled around the bed to stroke his white hair. “Dad.”

  The frown line in her father’s brow had eased as he slept, one side of his head covered in bandages. A tiny cut on his jaw, where he’d probably nicked himself shaving that morning, stood in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.

  The nurse opened the window a crack and left.

  Lisa looked around. Gerry was still hunting for coffee it seemed, but that was fine. Time alone couldn’t hurt. And the beep of the ECG could keep her company. She leant back in the hard chair beside the hospital bed as the curtain slid open.

  “Lisa Thomas?” A doctor in a white coat held a chart, her face brimming with weariness. “I’m Doctor Bagnato.”

  She stood. “Will he be all right?”

  “He’s recovering but we won’t know what sort of damage has been done until he wakes.”

  “Later tonight?”

  “Most likely. But once we know, we can make sure there’s nothing serious going on. He’s likely to make a good recovery, he seems tough.”

  “So he’s not stable yet?”

  “He is but head wounds can be unpredictable.” Her voice grew a little firmer. “I can’t make promises, I hope you understand.”

  Lisa looked to her father. “I do.”

  “The
ambulance report says he fell down some steps?”

  “I wasn’t there, but he’s usually more steady on his feet. I think...he might have Alzheimer’s or something.”

  The doctor tilted her head. “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s having more memory problems than in the past and sometimes he just seems lost in space, staring.”

  “Have you been to see his GP?”

  Lisa shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “You should make an appointment.”

  “I will.” No more excuses now.

  A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “This is the best place for him for now.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s some paperwork at the nurse’s station when you’re ready.”

  Lisa nodded but didn’t move for a long time.

  *

  It was dark when Gerry dropped her off with a promise to check on her tomorrow and she dragged herself inside with a huge sigh. Even though Dad hadn’t woken, he seemed more stable at least, and coming home drained the tension from her body.

  She hit the kitchen light and a small smile graced her lips. Even her old toaster – just sitting there on the bench – even that silly silver rectangle was a welcome sight.

  “Hello, Lisa.”

  She jumped.

  Ben moved into the kitchen from the darkened lounge. His eyes were flat and he moved with purpose. Not drunk this time, just angry.

  “What are you doing in here?” She took a step back.

  “I’m just leaving, actually.” He started around the bench and she edged toward the kitchen drawer. Where the bigger knives lay. Her pulse had already doubled.

  “Get out, Ben.”

  He paused in the hall. “I’ve written a letter, since you won’t let me talk.”

  Then he was gone.

  She tore a knife from the drawer and locked the front door, then did the same for each window and the back and sliding door too. No evidence of how he got in, nothing broken and nothing open. Bastard, bastard, bastard.

  The letter sat on her pillow.

  She dropped the knife.

  “You prick.” Lisa snatched the letter and strode to the kitchen, where she grabbed matches from beside the stove, striking one and snapping the head. She struck another. It lit and she held the tiny flame beneath the envelope. The edges curled orange and black and once the flame grew, she dropped it into the sink and let it burn down to ashes.