55

by James Delargy

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Chandler, the implications of the words still unclear.

  ‘What more clarification do you need, Chandler? Teri. And I. Are a couple.’

  Teri and Mitch? A couple?

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since we got the call about an attempted car-jacking up in PH. From a Teri Pagonis. I tagged along to see if it was the same Teri Pagonis I used to know.’ The familiar beaming grin had returned to Mitch’s face. He was delighted at having sprung this on Chandler. He had probably been itching to tell him since he had arrived.

  ‘How many Teri Pagonises do you think there are?’ spat Chandler.

  Mitch’s shrug suggested he didn’t care. ‘She said that the two of you weren’t together any longer. She still looks pretty hot. We’ve been seeing each other since last August. Just over a year now. She’s cleaned up her act a lot since I knew her. Moved into her own place. Decent job in admin, decent prospects. But you know all this.’ It was delivered with a snideness that suggested he knew Chandler didn’t know, and he was correct in that assumption.

  Mitch continued, ‘Well, we decided to meet up for a drink, got to talking and found that we had more in common than we thought; we both like our own space, she enjoys order and I like things to be in order. We talked about this place a lot.’ He looked at Chandler. ‘Mostly about missing her kids.’

  ‘She was the one who left us.’

  ‘Let me finish,’ said Mitch in typical reproachful fashion. ‘She misses the kids but doesn’t miss the place. Neither do I.’ He leaned in to whisper, ‘It’s a bit of a shithole, frankly.’

  Chandler let the disparagement of their home town pass.

  ‘So I said to her; you’ve got a stable environment, why don’t you apply for custody of the kids?’

  Chandler clenched his fists tight, speechless.

  ‘It’s not like it’s your exclusive right to have them, is it?’ added Mitch. ‘Now, to be fair, she’s not sure she’s earned the right to have them, but then again have you? From what I’ve seen, your folks do most of the parenting.’

  ‘What the hell do you know about it?’

  ‘This town has ears.’

  ‘Who talked to you?’

  Mitch sniffed. ‘Remember I have family here, Chandler. They told me those kids are never away from your parents’ place.’

  ‘They know fuck all,’ said Chandler, seething.

  Mitch laughed.

  It made Chandler further enraged.

  ‘You’re probably right, Chandler, but we are,’ said Mitch, emphasizing the ‘we’, ‘looking into gaining custody of the kids.’

  ‘You’ve only been together, you said, a year?’

  ‘It’s serious, Chandler. A serious relationship. We’re living together. I want to be a father, and I think it’s better if the kids are ready made. Cuts out the messy early stage.’

  ‘Fuck you—’ spluttered Chandler. ‘You, a father?’

  ‘You might not believe me, Chandler, but fortunately it’s not up to you. It’s up to the presiding judge. And I know a lot of them.’

  Every fibre of Chandler’s entire being screamed out to punch Mitch. Mitch even kept his face and jutting chin right in front of him as if tempting him to do it. To do it and earn himself a reprimand and probably get thrown off the force. Do it and provide fuel for Teri’s case. Give the judge another reason to rule in her favour. If Chandler stayed where he was then the chances were that he would plant one, or both, of his fists into that face.

  There was only one solution. Chandler turned and left the station.

  31

  The day was blazing hot but Chandler barely noticed. Blanking the questions posed by the reporters hanging outside the back gate he continued down Harper’s, darting between the scorching sun and the cool of the awnings. As he paced along one thought dominated his brain.

  She was the one who left.

  He did, however, understand why. There was a regularity to life in Wilbrook here that for someone as restless as Teri was dull. Mr Peacock sitting outside his hardware store letting customers roam around inside before coming to serve them in his own sweet time. Ansell Parker swatting away flies in his grocery store like Sisyphus. Mrs Cotterall watering her window boxes despite being warned over the egregious use of water, and maliciously soaking those walking below. These thoughts, which ordinarily were enough to distract him, were unable to prevent his mind from focusing on what Mitch had said; about what they threatened to take from him. Whether a judge had lack of insight enough to rip Sarah and Jasper away from him after everything Teri had done, or more appropriately, hadn’t done. But if she had indeed cleaned up her act as Mitch had said then it was possible it could happen. That Teri – and Mitch – could gain custody of his kids. Mitch and Teri. Two people who had openly despised each other. Now, they were a couple – a thing. If she got the kids, he’d be forced to resume his weekly commute to the coast, this time to see his children with the loving couple. It made his skin crawl.

  A car pulled up alongside him, the electronic motor of the window whirring as it rolled down. Mitch leaned over from the driver’s seat.

  ‘Chandler, we were going to tell you – honestly. I wasn’t supposed to, Teri was, but . . . well it happened. We wanted to see if we were going to stay together first before doing it. And now that we are, we both want the kids to grow up in the city. At least experience it before they decide where they would rather be. Surely you can see that would be good for them. No one can survive in isolation for ever these days.’

  Chandler stopped and turned towards the voice. He spoke with a restraint he didn’t imagine possible. ‘You can take Teri, Mitch. Take her and keep her for all I care, but no way are you getting your hands on my kids.’

  ‘We’ll let the courts decide that, Chandler. In the future. We have a case to solve. Get in the car and I’ll take us back to the station.’

  ‘I’ll walk,’ said Chandler, not trusting himself to be alone with Mitch.

  Chandler made his way back through town, noticing, as if for the first time, how barren and dusty a place it was, like a ghost town from some old cowboy movie, the tarmac scorching the soles of his feet and draining his remaining strength. Wilbrook was stuck in a different era, the ornate street lights, the delicate awnings, all built for footfall rather than vehicles. Maybe Mitch was right, maybe they were out of touch. Maybe Sarah and Jasper should be given the opportunity to decide where they wanted to live. Maybe he was restricting their development by forcing them to live here. But – as Mitch had said – that was for the future. There was something more pressing happening at the moment. A case of life and death.

  Chandler walked straight back into discussions over what to do with the suspects. Mitch had settled upon Heath as the sole culprit given the new evidence. After making his case he asked for opinions. Not that he wanted them. As was expected, his team nodded their assent. Only Tanya offered a differing opinion, noting that neither suspect had backed down from their story despite the psychological – and physical – pressure.

  ‘We have the shirt and the axe,’ said Mitch. ‘And the fact that Mr Barwell was brought in trying to steal a car. Probably to flee the area.’

  ‘Gabriel fled too,’ Chandler noted.

  ‘He also gave himself up,’ noted Mitch. ‘Twice.’

  ‘To a degree. But do you want to take that chance—’ He broke off before he could call him ‘Mitch’. If provoked, Mitch might have turned stubborn. What he wanted was to play into Mitch’s fears of getting something disastrously wrong. ‘ – Inspector?’ he concluded.

  As it was, Mitch narrowed his eyes, clearly having heard Chandler’s slight hesitation before using his title.

  ‘We have both, we can charge both,’ continued Chandler.

  ‘Falsely accusing one man,’ said Mitch.

  ‘Until we are sure which one is innocent that is something we – and you – have to live with.’ Chandler felt sick. Saying this, even thinking this went against ev
erything that he stood for, depriving an innocent man of his freedom, but he could see no other alternative.

  ‘So where are we?’ asked Tanya.

  ‘We charge them both. With murder,’ said Chandler. ‘There’s no way around it. We’ve easily exceeded our window to hold them in custody, even applying generous time-outs for transfers, evidence collection, medical treatment and escape attempts. If we take the piss any further there’s a danger of the whole thing collapsing, or our suspects claiming rights violations.’

  There was a pause. All eyes were on Mitch.

  Mitch gave a reluctant nod. ‘The lawyers will make things murky,’ he said, not disguising his dissatisfaction. ‘I’d hoped to have this all ironed out before that happened. But we are where we are,’ he continued. ‘We’ll charge them both. Now get to it.’

  With that the meeting broke up.

  With the suspects again cloistered with their lawyers, Chandler’s thoughts returned to the earlier revelation. But ringing Teri to discuss it would do no good and he wasn’t about to rehash it with Mitch.

  Seeking a distraction he left to visit the forensic team who had taken over the town hall a few hundred metres down the street. The cracked, red-brick building looked like a warehouse with decorative windows. It hadn’t seen this much action since the recruitment drives at the end of the Second World War when there had been a heated discussion on whether the town should be sending people off to fight another world away. That time it had ended up in a small riot, with the part-time mayor, part-time publican ‘Rolling’ Harry Winter, using the ceremonial chains as a makeshift lasso to drag the worst of the rioters away. This one act had made all the papers and secured Harry another ten years in the job.

  As Chandler stepped inside, suspicious eyes trailed him everywhere. It was only after he flashed his credentials that he was pointed towards the officer in command, Rebecca Patel, her demeanour painfully formal and ultra-clinical. Perfect for the job.

  ‘What do you have?’ asked Chandler.

  ‘Have? You’ll need to be more specific, Sergeant.’ Dr Patel wasn’t one for time-wasting.

  ‘Anything further on the bodies – on identifying who they were?’

  She shook her head at him as if he were a small child who had asked her to summarize the meaning of life in five words or less. ‘It’s too early to tell anything as specific as that, Sergeant. We’ve only got preliminary results so far.’

  ‘Preliminary’s good enough for me.’

  She raised her eyebrows. Dr Patel was a woman of little humour, as colourless as her smock, but Chandler supposed that she had to be in her line of work; meticulous in dress, meticulous in approach.

  ‘We’ve identified the victims as four males and two females, all aged between twenty and forty, but that initial prognosis might alter for at least two of them. All were clothed but no ID was present. Currently we are working on recovering dental imprints in case that gives us something straight off. Initial tests reveal no signs of sexual interference. Importantly, and as I’m sure you are eager to know, all the victims look to have been strangled with rope. Ligature marks are visible on all the bodies, nothing subtle or unique about the application, just pure force.’

  ‘That was preliminary?’ Chandler smiled, searching for an ounce of humour.

  Rebecca gave a simple nod. ‘There’s nothing more I can or want to divulge right now. We’ll prepare the report in good time. And can I ask that you don’t leak anything to the press that might have to be rescinded at a later date when we have sight of the full results.’

  She raised her eyebrows hinting that she was open to any further questions he had, but that there shouldn’t be any.

  32

  Chandler was back at the station when Mitch informed each suspect, in the presence of their lawyers, that they were to be charged with six counts of murder. Both were stunned. Both insisted that the police were making a huge mistake. Both were told to keep quiet by their lawyers who then reiterated their clients’ complaints to Mitch in the strongest possible terms, claiming that their clients had pleaded not guilty and should be treated as such, angry that it had taken the police so long to call them in. It was like watching a verbal ballet, their complaints as in sync as their clients’ testimonies.

  Despite having the suspects held and charges laid, Mitch was angry.

  ‘Heath’s insisting on making a complaint. About our treatment of him.’ Mitch shook his head, the tendons in his jaw pronounced. ‘I’ve got him, and yet he, this serial killer, the one who’ll make my name throughout all of Australia, maybe even the world, has the gall to complain about how we’ve handled it.’

  ‘And Gabriel?’

  Mitch seemed angry at the focus being drawn from Heath. ‘Not a peep.’

  ‘He might be saving it for later.’

  Mitch frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean – your assault on him. Gabriel might be saving it to use as a bargaining chip for later on.’

  Mitch fell silent, the tendons at work again.

  Flo appeared at the door. ‘Press conference, Inspector.’ Slamming his hands on the desk Mitch stood up and stormed into the press conference to announce the charges. Chandler listened in astonishment as Mitch’s usually pin-sharp delivery was missing, his air of confidence gone. His irritation with the reporters for badgering him overwhelmed him. He had lost the sheen of control and had reverted back to the stumbling teenager of old, as if some disease from his youth had risen from the soil he’d grown up on and infected him. The belligerence of the suspects was ruining his plans to storm in, round up the culprits and swan off back to the coast. With Teri. And Chandler’s kids.

  The announcement of the charges sent a buzz not only around the station but around town, locals joining reporters in gathering outside the station, eager to witness the evil that had ridden into town. Murder was not something that came often to Wilbrook. Mass murder was unthinkable.

  But any discomfort was not kept solely for Mitch. With locals turning up en masse, Chandler was forced to explain to panicked members of his town that all was calm and that they had the suspects locked up. Sparra Talbot even made him swear to it.

  Two official summonses were drawn up and issued, for one Gabriel Johnson and one Heath David Barwell to appear before the magistrate tomorrow morning.

  Chandler had half-expected Mitch to insist that he stayed at the station, keeping him from the kids to help further his and Teri’s case for custody, but Mitch was preoccupied with completing the prosecution notices, so Chandler went home.

  With Sarah glued to her phone, Jasper dragged him to the garage and insisted on him retrieving the go-kart from it. Laying it on the driveway, Chandler could see that the back axle had worked loose over the winter and was in need of some work, but Jasper was in no mood to fix what was immediately serviceable. Plumping himself down on the plastic seat they had cannibalized from an old buggy he demanded that his dad push him around the yard. This carefree attitude to safety reminded Chandler of his own youth darting around on motorbikes. It was also the reason Jasper tended to get into scrapes, his grandparents too slow to keep up with him, usually arriving on the scene in the aftermath of an incident. Indeed the knobbly knees which protruded from Jasper’s khaki shorts were presently crisscrossed with a series of cuts and scabs as if he had been dragged back and forth through a nest of brambles. The type of injuries that would cause whoever was ruling on custody to think twice. But Chandler was sure they would have to accept that kids could not be watched over one hundred per cent of the time. Tears were part of growing up and with Jasper they never lasted long anyway, his life a constant stream of adventure: fortresses and stunts, cops and robbers. And now, murderers.

  After a pleasant family dinner, Chandler put Jasper to bed with a bedtime story, a fantastical tale of robots and spaceships on a distant planet where the water was sparkling soda and the scenery was edible, a rip-off of a nursery rhyme from his childhood he couldn’t quite recall. Before he had tu
rned the second page, Jasper was asleep, the evening’s exertions taking their toll.

  Next stop was Sarah. She was curled up in bed, the phone inches from her face. Chandler felt tentative as he entered, expecting questions that he didn’t want to answer. He played it safe at first.

  ‘How was your day, honey?’

  All he got in reply was a mumble. A good or bad sign, he couldn’t tell.

  ‘Nothing exciting?’

  ‘No First Confession yet.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. But there’s—’

  ‘Sophie says there’s been a murder and that you have the murderer. Two of them.’

  So much for caution. He cleared his throat. ‘There’s an investigation in progress.’

  ‘Dad, I’m not a kid. You can tell me.’

  ‘Even if that were true I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about. We have it under control.’

  ‘Then why did you – they – stop the First Confession going ahead?’

  ‘It takes time to clear these things up. It’ll happen soon I suspect. Maybe in a few days.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded neither happy nor sad.

  He settled on a change of subject.

  ‘Do you want to go through it with me?’

  She shook her head. ‘I know it.’

  ‘You know your words?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you know the sin you’re going to confess?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And what is it?’

  ‘I’m not telling,’ she said, wide-eyed.

  Chandler feigned shock. ‘Is it that bad? Do I need to call Jim and Tanya in to take a statement?’

  ‘Noooo,’ she said, yelping with laughter.

  ‘So why can’t you tell?’

  ‘It should be a secret,’ she said, before looking up at him with big brown eyes. ‘Unless you tell me what you confessed. Your first time.’

  Chandler was stumped. He couldn’t remember what his big sin had been. Probably something trivial that seemed like a big deal when he was eleven. If he were asked to come up with one now he knew what he would confess. Forgiveness for all those he had let down over the years. Teri . . . Sarah . . . Jasper . . . Martin.