Second Sight

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘A couple of possible sightings yesterday. We’re bringing in the dogs again tomorrow.’

  ‘How dangerous is he?’ I ask. ‘Should I be worried?’

  Gavin shrugs. ‘Look, Luke’s got a temper but that Paul Keenan was no choir boy. Hadn’t been here long but he was already attracting our interest. Luke was knocked around by the bushfires, of course, and now he’ll be desperate. All this media attention isn’t helping.’

  That doesn’t sound exactly like a no. I sit there feeling queasy at the thought of giving evidence. Part of the attraction of being a lawyer is that you get to be the one asking the questions, not the person being badgered to answer them.

  ‘You’ll be right,’ says Gavin. ‘We’ve kept your name confidential. That’s why I’m keeping you away from the station. Just a precaution, you understand. You’ve got more to worry about if the town hears what you’re currently working on. There are some who’d string you up.’

  Feeling worse, I stare out at the garden. Discarded lemons rot in the long grass under the shade of the large tree. Possums, whose interest is only skin-deep, like the tangy acid of the peel and gnaw them off the branches.

  ‘Garden needs a bit of work,’ I say, just to change the subject.

  ‘Well, Mick was never much of a gardener,’ he says. ‘Remember Alan Sharp?’

  ‘Red-haired cop who worked with Dad?’

  ‘Less hair on top these days. Started a mowing business after he left the force. Mick used to get him in every month or so, but he charged well over the odds. One of the first things Tess did was sack him.’

  ‘Dad was probably helping him out.’

  ‘Mick was always an old softie,’ Gavin agrees. ‘Some ties he just wouldn’t let go of.’

  ‘You know you’re talking about Dad in the past tense.’

  Gavin blinks like he’s surprised and then looks down, a sad half-smile on his face. ‘Well, it shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Is that what the doctors say?’

  ‘They’ve been predicting his death ever since the accident. Stubborn bugger, he’s still holding on. He was always like that at work, too. Never gave up until he was satisfied everything had been done.’

  That reminds me about Grace’s file being in Dad’s car. ‘At the hospital the night of his accident,’ I say, ‘you said he had two files in the car, Grace Hedland’s and another.’

  Gavin gives me a long hard look and then shakes his head slowly. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Must have been the shock talking.’

  He turns away and picks up his plate.

  ‘What was the other file?’

  ‘Those files are confidential, just like the names of witnesses,’ he says, mopping up the remaining egg yolk with his bread. ‘Let’s head inside to get this statement done and then I can drive you to the memorial.’

  Standing up, I look at the shed and something clicks. ‘No need,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going to take the Mustang.’ It is as much a surprise to myself as it is Gavin.

  ‘It will cost you a fortune to run, and it’s not suited to city traffic.’

  I had only meant to drive to the memorial, but why not? I haven’t owned a car in years – with public transport and Uber there seemed little point. But my apartment has a designated car spot, and it will definitely annoy Tess, which is an added bonus.

  ‘I’ll drive it home today.’

  ‘Hope it makes it,’ says Gavin.

  He stands up, balancing his plate in one hand.

  ‘A hundred bucks,’ I tell him, ‘if you shave it off now.’

  ‘Done,’ he says.

  9

  Slamming both feet on the brake, my hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel. There is a deep growl of protest from the engine as I lurch into the church car park, picking the easiest spot to park the Mustang in.

  ‘Well, look who’s here,’ says a loud voice as I step out of the car.

  Janey Bayless stands there. With her red-lipsticked mouth and diamante earrings there’s nothing drab about her, despite being dressed head to toe in black. The platinum hair is the same shade as twenty years ago. Her curves are now more globe than hourglass but otherwise she’s the same.

  ‘Eliza Carmody, as I live and breathe,’ she exclaims, her perfume enveloping me like a hug. Tony stands behind her. ‘So good to see you. If only it was for a happier occasion,’ Janey says, and then turns to her son, ‘Tony love, I left my sunglasses in the car. Could you grab them?’ She hands over a set of keys. ‘I always cry at funerals,’ she tells me. ‘Can’t think a memorial will be different.’

  Tony, grim-faced, immediately sets off through the car park but stops only a couple of cars away to shake hands with another arrival.

  ‘This has knocked us all about,’ Janey says, ‘especially Tony. He told me you were a comfort in the hospital.’ She pats my arm, her rings rubbing against my skin. ‘Last thing Kinsale needs as well. We’ll be lucky if we see another tourist this side of Christmas.’

  ‘But you must be busy. I saw your posters in town.’

  She gives me a mischievous grin. ‘Got a banner as well, the type you tow around on the back of a trailer. My face is six foot tall on it. Mayor Janey Bayless – I reckon it’s got a nice ring to it. If I get in I’ll be the first woman mayor.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I knew a professional lady like yourself would be supportive. Did Tony tell you that we’re involved in a legal case as well?’

  My heart begins to hummingbird flutter.

  ‘One of the biggest class actions in the state and there’s me being the public face of it. At the start I wasn’t sure, but you’ve got to stand up for what’s right, don’t you? I mean the way Tony got treated by those Arson Squad detectives, dragging him in for interview after interview. Still, what’s done is done. Kinsale has got to pull itself up because no-one’s going to do that for us.’

  Tony returns and hands his mother her glasses.

  ‘Have you seen how many reporters are here?’ he says. ‘They shouldn’t be at a memorial.’ He nods in the direction of a tight knot of people standing near the porch of the church.

  ‘Journalists?’ I turn my head in that direction.

  ‘Have they no respect for people’s privacy?’ asks Tony.

  Janey pulls out her phone and then turns on the camera, flipping the view to check her make-up. She wipes away excess lipstick with her baby finger. People around us begin to move herd-like towards the entrance.

  ‘Time to go in,’ Janey says.

  A journalist calls out something to her as we pass. I hear the word ‘bones’.

  ‘Where are your manners?’ Janey calls back. ‘It’s a memorial, for goodness sake.’

  Janey and Tony go up the front of the church, as they are family friends. I find Amy and Gus sitting about a third of the way from the back and slip in beside them.

  I’ve always loved the simplicity of this building. Anonymous from the outside, the wooden interior is peaceful and the crowd hushes automatically as they enter. Sun streams in through long windows and makes what would otherwise look plain and sparse beautiful. This is the church I was baptised in, where my sister was married, and where my mother’s funeral was held, not that I can remember it. When the time comes, this is the place we will say goodbye to my father.

  A row of girls from my old school stand at the back next to the electric organ, dressed in my old uniform, thick rough woollen blazers with pinafores of maroon and blue squares that at a distance blend into sullen grey. A girl with two long plaits stands at the front of the group. It’s the girl who walked out of the pharmacy with the boy in a hoodie, the day Luke punched Paul.

  I nudge Amy. ‘Who’s that?’

  Amy cranes her neck. ‘Kayla Deasey. Dave’s daughter.’

  ‘Not Crazy Dave we went to school with?’

  Dave Deasey was a few years older than us and spent so much time sitting outside the principal’s office, I’m a bit surprised he’s not still there.
<
br />   Amy nudges me. ‘There he is.’ Dave stands up the back, tall and lanky, dressed in clean slacks and an open-collared shirt – formal wear for farmers. I look from him to his daughter and see the same thin face and long nose. Dave catches my eye and raises his hand. Amy notices. ‘He’s single, if you’re interested.’ I roll my eyes at her.

  My sister and Gavin, now minus his moustache, walk past me and, after a momentary hesitation, sit on the other side of the aisle, a couple of rows from the front. There is only one other occupant in their row and, although the church is now packed, people seem reluctant to join her. A large woman, she sits there praying, her head bowed and face hidden.

  A priest I don’t know begins and the refrains and responses dredge up of their own accord. Automatic ‘amen’s and ‘also with you’s slip into place. The words are so familiar that if I shut my eyes I could be back at school mass, sitting between Amy and Grace, trying to swallow down snorts of teenage laughter. Instead, I keep them open and am comforted by the order after the chaos of the last week. I don’t believe in God but being in this church with people who do is reassuring, and right now that is enough.

  Memories float into my mind like sunlight on water as faces in the crowd slowly come into focus. Family groups with additional members attached and some with gaps where others used to be. It is an exaggeration to say everyone in town is here, but the place is so full, it feels like that. Country towns do funerals best of all, being practised in tragedy. The farm accidents. The car crashes. The suicides dressed up as farm accidents and car crashes. Businesses shut down, the local school choir turns up, people take the time to pay their respects. Suddenly and perhaps irrationally, I feel something close to love for Kinsale.

  The priest starts talking about Paul and his words are greeted with nods of approval. He gestures to the front row when he mentions Paul’s family and through a gap in the crowd I see Tony’s head in profile, half-turning as he places a hand on the person beside him. It is Donal.

  Surprised, I almost will him to feel my gaze and turn around, but everyone in this place is probably looking at him; another pair of eyes adds no weight. The priest continues to talk about all those devastated by the attack and this time he stretches out an arm towards where Tess and Gavin are sitting. There is a ripple through the congregation, a gravitational pull of interest as heads turn towards the woman sitting next to them. Amy moves uneasily in her seat, and faces around me are rigid with disapproval. The woman is kneeling, her body a tight bundle. She turns slightly and I realise that it’s Luke’s mother.

  There is a pause in the words from the pulpit and from somewhere behind us comes a shout.

  ‘Where is he, Cadee? Where’s that bastard son of yours hiding?’

  It’s a blustering man at the back of the church. Another person comes out of the distant past. Less hair and a beard covers the lower half of his face, but he’s an easy pick. Former constable and now man with a mower Alan Sharp sways on his feet. He could be drunk.

  ‘Shame,’ comes another voice, and there are murmurs. As the sound swells, to my surprise it becomes clear they are actually agreeing with what Alan Sharp has said. The sentiment is taken up and amplified. Outrage is contagious. A young woman with thick framed glasses and mermaid-blue hair in the row across from me pulls out her phone and types something into it.

  The priest seems at a loss and gapes. Slowly, Gavin gets to his feet, walks along the pew and stands in the aisle, staring down the malcontents. The room shuffles back into silence but Alan doesn’t move, his face ablaze.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he snarls at Gavin. ‘Arrest me?’

  ‘You’re in church,’ Gavin answers, his face stony. ‘Show some respect.’

  It’s like two gunslingers facing off, a battle of wills, and it’s Alan who is first to turn away. The congregation is so quiet that we hear his footsteps clatter on the floor as he walks through the doors. Next to me, Amy audibly breathes out, and Gus drops his arm, which he had protectively put around her shoulders. At the front of the church, Donal hasn’t moved.

  The priest, clearly not used to heckling, tries to regain control but fumbles his words until finally returning to ‘Let us pray’, which seems ambitious given so many in here want to throw stones.

  After the service the three of us sit there waiting for the crowds to move. Donal disappears behind a wall of well-wishers so I give up on trying to talk to him.

  ‘What was that about?’ I ask.

  Amy shakes her head. ‘Sometimes I think this entire town has PTSD.’

  ‘You all right?’ I ask.

  She sighs. ‘I’m fine. Better head back to the surgery.’

  ‘C’mon Amy,’ Gus protests. ‘Let’s go have a drink at The Royal. Most of the town will be heading there anyway.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t leave Dad to see all the patients.’

  The three of us walk out and I head back to the Mustang, unsure what I’m going to do. I don’t think I want to go to the pub in case the conversation is all about the aftermath of the bushfire, and the court case. Twirling the keys on my fingers, I think about my father all alone in his drab little room and how much he loved this car. Maybe I should do the right thing and go visit him.

  Crazy Dave Deasey lopes across to me and for a split second I’m worried that Amy’s had a word to him and he wants to ask me out. I quickly turn and unlock the car.

  ‘Hey, Odd Eyes, Odd Eyes Carmody, wait up.’ It’s a reminder of the schoolyard and one that still makes me wish coloured contact lenses had been around in my teenage years.

  ‘Oh, Dave, how are you?’

  He’s tanned, tall and junkie-thin. His hair is pulled back into a ratty ponytail and the shirt he is wearing exposes the paleness of his chest below the T-shirt tan line. The overall effect makes him look vulnerable, like a snail out of its shell.

  ‘Good, good. This your dad’s old car?’ He raps his knuckles hard on the roof in a way that would make my father want to arrest him.

  ‘Mine now, actually,’ I say.

  ‘Nice.’ He runs a finger along one sharp cheekbone. ‘Saw you in the church before.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Dave shuffles from one foot to the other, looking shifty. ‘Got thinking about your dad and how you’re related to Gavin and wondered if you could do us a favour.’

  I hesitate before answering as old memories of Dave’s harebrained schemes at school come rushing back.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Believe me, I’ve got no problem with Gavin, not like Sharpy, but he doesn’t understand the town like Mick did. I mean he’s only been back here five minutes.’

  ‘He’s lived here before,’ I say. Dave looks unconvinced.

  ‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘there are these bones up at The Castle.’

  ‘The ones the police found?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing.’ A slow grin creeps over his face. ‘I kind of found them first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was there digging around when I found the skull.’

  ‘What sort of skull?’

  ‘A human one.’ Dave nods. ‘I didn’t think anything of it. Reckoned it was so old it wasn’t worth going to the cops about it. Just left it lying there.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I mean everyone knows there are bodies up there.’

  ‘Whose bodies?’

  Dave makes a wide-open gesture with his hands. ‘Who knows? Just bodies. Old ones. And now the cops have found it and all those journalists back at the church were talking about it. You know someone on the Facebook was saying Luke Tyrell might have killed someone else and buried them up there.’

  ‘Luke’s a serial killer now, is he?’

  Dave’s stories were always about as tall as he is.

  ‘That’s what people are saying.’ Dave is starting to get defensive.

  ‘What do you mean by bodies, plural?’ I ask. ‘Was there more than one skull?’

  ‘Could be,’
he says. ‘I didn’t dig any further, didn’t seem right.’

  ‘Why were you digging up there anyway?’

  Dave drops his head, a slight red glow making its way through his tan. ‘Just doing a bit of metal detecting.’ His tone is even more defensive now.

  ‘Metal detecting at The Castle?’ Despite the seriousness of what he’s said I almost want to laugh, because old stories are coming back to me. ‘Tell me you weren’t looking for the legendary Nazi buried treasure?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he answers too quickly, but he can’t look me in the eye and instead gazes out over the cars in the opposite direction.

  ‘What has any of this got to do with me?’

  ‘It’s a bit awkward, but before I found that skull, I found something else. I was going to give it to my daughter, Kayla, so I cleaned it up a bit, but now the police are investigating I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Give it to them then.’

  ‘And have Gavin charge me with theft or interfering with police investigations? Besides, I’m bidding to do the demolition work on The Castle. Those developers hear about this, I’ve got no chance. I was planning on dropping it off anonymously but you can’t do anything in this town anonymously. So when I saw you today, I thought – you’re a lawyer, I’ll just give it to you. Won’t be strange you seeing him, he’s your brother-in-law. Tell him it’s from the site. Just don’t say I found it. Say you are working on behalf of a client.’

  It was this sort of reasoning that saw Dave spend most of high school in detention.

  ‘You aren’t my client.’

  ‘You don’t live here anymore, Eliza. What happens in Kinsale doesn’t affect you.’

  Dave fishes a clear plastic zip lock bag out of his pocket and hands it to me. There’s an envelope inside.

  ‘I used gloves so there’s no fingerprints.’

  I’m about to tell him how idiotic he’s being when Dave looks behind me, sticks out his hand and says in a loud voice, ‘Sorry for your loss. Paul was a good bloke.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Donal.

  ‘Best be going,’ says Dave.

  ‘Hang on,’ I say, but he thrusts the plastic bag into my hands and strides back across the car park.