Second Sight

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘We didn’t have an appointment,’ says Aaron.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Nilla turns towards him, confused.

  ‘There was no mix-up. We just wanted to talk to you to make sure.’

  ‘Make sure of what?’ Her voice is sharp now, the words angular.

  ‘That the police were right and those bones aren’t my sister’s.’

  Aaron says this as simple fact. He’s not attempting to fool or bully her into cooperating as I’ve been doing. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the photo and hands it to her. ‘My sister Grace was sixteen when she disappeared. Her necklace was found near where the bones were discovered. When we heard that they were of a young woman, we thought . . .’ He can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence but it has the desired effect. Dr Adler purses her lips and then checks her watch.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your sister,’ she says, and the tension disappears. ‘While I can’t say anything to you about those bones specifically, perhaps I can explain the process involved, which might indirectly answer some of your questions. If you agree to respect those limitations,’ a quick glance in my direction, ‘then that might work.’

  ‘We will,’ he says, not looking at me. Both of them would be happy if I disappeared off the face of the earth.

  ‘Let’s find somewhere quieter,’ Nilla says. She leads us along the river that cuts the city in two, past buskers, flocks of tourists and the cafes and bars heaving with customers. We order coffee at a shop the size of a postage stamp and then perch on some outside cube seats that feel about as comfortable as overturned milk crates and probably cost ten times more. Nilla starts talking as we wait for our drinks to arrive.

  ‘I want you to know that whenever bones come into my care, I never forget that this person was once alive and that people loved them. They are always treated respectfully,’ she tells Aaron. ‘Every investigation dictates its own processes but I’ll try to outline roughly how I work. When we find bones, the first question is: are they human? The police have already said this publicly, so I can confirm that the Kinsale bones are. The second question the police want me to answer is, are they of forensic significance? Basically that means: are they less than a hundred years old? If they are, then the Coroner must investigate.’

  ‘How can you tell their age?’ asks Aaron.

  The waitress comes over with two long blacks and a cappuccino and we sit there in silence until she has gone again.

  ‘At times it can be hard to find out, especially if only a single bone is found, say, washed up on a beach, but that’s not the case here. Again, it has already been released that what was discovered was a full skeleton.’ She looks at Aaron as if trying to assess how blunt she can be.

  ‘In my job, that’s the equivalent of finding gold. We can tell a lot from the bones themselves, from their teeth, for example, and also the context in which they were found.’

  ‘Grace had two fillings,’ Aaron volunteers, as if that’s a detail he’s already thought about.

  Nilla looks sympathetically at him. ‘When did Grace go missing?’

  Aaron is quick to offer the date, as though it is tattooed on his mind.

  She is choosing her words carefully. ‘When we find bones that are over a hundred years old, and therefore not of forensic significance, we will notify other organisations that may be interested, such as the Heritage Department and relevant Aboriginal organisations.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, suddenly deflated. ‘Are you saying these bones are over a hundred years old?’

  Nilla makes the sort of face that says yes without actually saying anything.

  Aaron takes a long slow breath. He almost crumples into someone smaller as he puts his face in his hands. He takes a moment before speaking. ‘So it is just a coincidence that the necklace of a young teenage girl who disappeared was found near the bones of another teenage girl?’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help you there,’ Nilla says.

  ‘Wasn’t there evidence on site of other buried bodies?’ I ask. ‘Shouldn’t you dig some more?’

  She folds her arms and looks at me hard. I’m not obeying the rules she set out.

  ‘As I said from the outset, I can’t discuss this specific case, but so you know, no mass burial has ever been found in this state. You’re talking about an unlikely possibility.’

  ‘What about single burials at the same site? Say, someone hears rumours about all these bodies being buried and decides it’s a convenient dumping ground for young girls.’

  ‘This site is not a dumping ground.’ Her tone is becoming sharper. ‘Those bones lay undisturbed for over a hundred years. That should suggest to you that it wasn’t a shallow grave.’ Nilla is getting so annoyed that she is starting to ignore her own parameters. ‘In my experience, criminals are too lazy to dig deep.’

  ‘But will the rest of the site be checked?’ I persist.

  Nilla shakes her head. ‘Digging is always the last resort. Once we start digging we’re potentially destroying or at least disturbing evidence. Instead, historians will be consulted, as well as the various groups I mentioned. Technology such as ground-penetrating radar can be used to assess the landscape, to see if there are any anomalies that suggest the soil has been disturbed. For a decision to dig, a lot of people need to say yes and the money to do it needs to be found.’

  ‘There’s supposed to be a development there,’ Aaron says. ‘Won’t that destroy evidence?’

  Nilla hesitates but then says, ‘No development would go ahead if we thought that was likely.’

  ‘They’ll agree to digging?’ Aaron persists.

  Nilla shakes her head. ‘That’s not what I’m saying. It is possible there might be other bodies but there are other issues to consider. Should we disturb the dead when we’re not sure we can identify them?’

  ‘Any other body there would be over a hundred years old?’ Aaron asks.

  ‘You could conclude that, but I can’t confirm anything. That’s probably all the information I can give you.’ She stands up.

  Aaron stands as well and shakes her hand.

  ‘Even if it is a grave, it was unmarked,’ he says. ‘A hundred years ago means that her family could have died without knowing what happened to her.’ It is clear that he has more than just one teenage girl in mind.

  ‘I understand,’ Nilla says. ‘It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest. Every family I meet tells me that. I always try to give the families as much information as I possibly can.’ She looks at him with sad eyes.

  ‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘You’ve got an important job. I appreciate you talking to me.’

  ‘I hope you find your sister,’ she replies.

  If it was a quiet trip to the city, it’s a funeral on the way back. Fortunately the Mustang makes enough noise to fill the blank air surrounding us.

  I pull up outside his home. The porch light is on and I can imagine his mother waiting anxiously inside, wanting to hear what we found out.

  He clicks off the lap sash and turns to me, his face half in shadow.

  ‘My mother blamed herself for Grace’s disappearance, trying to work out what she did that was so wrong that would make Grace run away, when it wasn’t her at all. It was your fault.’

  He stops here as if expecting me to argue but I don’t.

  ‘She always hoped Grace was alive somewhere and would come back. That’s what kept her going all these years. You destroyed that when you told her those were Grace’s bones. Even after Gavin told us it wasn’t her, Mum kept thinking it was a mistake, that if the necklace was there it must be Grace. All she has been thinking about is her daughter being dug up, exhumed piece by piece, and put in boxes and paper bags and carted off to be examined by a stranger, but at least we would know, and after all this time she would have her back. Now I’ve got to tell her that those bones that you said were her daughter’s are over a hundred years old and we are no closer to finding Grace.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I begin, but he puts
up a hand to stop me.

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your police cover-ups and conspiracies. Don’t come near us ever again.’

  He slams the door so hard the entire car rattles.

  26

  I lie in bed thinking dark thoughts, waiting for sunrise. Aaron’s words are on a loop in my head, and I keep seeing the way he lumbered across the road and up the footpath. How the door had opened before he even got to the porch. Mrs Hedland standing there, looking ancient and frail.

  I’ve messed this up so badly, maybe I should just leave town, go back to the city and see what remains of my career. The familiar burn of humiliation at the thought of returning to work is overridden by thoughts of Grace.

  What happened to her? Where did she go?

  Before dawn, my phone shudders on the table next to my head. It’s a text message from Gus.

  Their baby has been born by emergency caesarean at Kinsale Community Hospital. Amy is seriously ill.

  • • •

  I sit in the waiting room so scared I cannot even cry. Gus comes and goes, pale, wordless, but eventually he sits down next to me. He’s shellshocked.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ he says. For a moment I think he means Amy but then I realise he is talking about the baby. In all the rushing I had forgotten.

  ‘It’s a girl?’ I ask.

  Gus nods.

  I know I should say congratulations or ask how the baby is, the weight, the size, the name, something, but the words break in my mouth because I only care about her mother.

  ‘Amy knew there were risks,’ he tells me.

  ‘Since when did Amy take risks?’ I ask. ‘She’s supposed to be the sensible one.’

  ‘I tried talking her out of it but she wouldn’t listen,’ Gus says. ‘I told her that I couldn’t bring up a baby without her and she told me that Eliza was brought up by her dad and she turned out great.’

  My face becomes sticky with tears and I cry into his shoulder.

  We sit for what seems like forever. Relatives arrive, Amy’s parents, Gus’s siblings. I move a little further away, making room for their questions and attempts to comfort Gus. The women go off in search of the baby, the men sit there silent, grim-faced. Other patients turn up in various states of disrepair, two car accidents and a suspected heart attack, but I am indifferent. My sole focus is Amy.

  A few hours in, I check my phone and see that Tristan, Amy’s cousin, has left a message. Walking outside, dawn breaking but the air still smelling of night, I return his call. The information he’s received has been scant and it’s not medical enough. He has questions I can’t answer and makes me promise to ask his uncle, Dr Liu, to ring him so he can work out exactly what is going on. Gavin has also rung but I don’t even bother to listen to his message.

  Last is a text from the expert witness, Rob Eslake. Apparently a press release went out late yesterday from my firm revealing that death threats have been made against him and me. Journalists have been ringing and Rob wants to know why I wouldn’t take the threats to the police but released them to the media instead without even letting him know first. I suspect this is Andrew’s work, under instruction from Bryan, lobbing grenades over the other side in the court of public opinion, but right now I just don’t care. That’s the effect of something like this: everything else just falls away.

  When I go back inside, Gus has gone and Dr Liu has disappeared as well.

  ‘They just finished operating,’ says one of Gus’s brothers. I sit and think about all the people I love. There were more of them when I was sixteen. That was the summer I spent infatuated with Tony Bayless. That was the summer I lost Grace. My father will be gone soon and any attachment to Tess comes heavily qualified. My whole life, the easiest person to love has been Amy. What will it be like if I lose her as well?

  I stare at the faces of the nurses going to and fro, trying to glean information. I’ve spent enough time around medical professionals to know what they look like when it goes bad but they seem normal and I feel a sliver of hope. When Gus comes back into the room, his father-in-law by his side, his face radiates relief. He tells us that she’s stabilised and that we can all go home and he’ll keep us updated. I feel like kissing everyone I see but instead I head down the hill to walk along the ocean.

  I stay a long time by the water saying thank you, thank you, thank you to whoever, whatever, decided Amy and her daughter would be OK. It feels like a bargain has been struck and something bigger than me has kept their end of it. I trace the steps I took with Donal until I find myself at the end of the rocks. Around the point is Cromwell’s Beach. I haven’t been back there since that night, never wanted to, but standing here it suddenly seems the right time and I clamber across, not stopping until I splash through the water to the sand on the other side.

  Above me is a flock of seabirds, black darts catching invisible waves of air, but the only footprints on the shore are mine. Silty waves churn up the sand and the rip lingers in the whitewater. This is not a beach to go swimming at, night or day. If Luke hadn’t swum out when he did, perhaps I would have been the one who disappeared.

  There is a red and yellow sign stuck in the ground at the edge of the car park. It warns of strong currents, unexpected waves and unpredictable tides but not of teenage stupidity or treacherous friends, which can be just as dangerous. Memories flicker past quickly as though caught in a current. Thoughts of Grace are pushed towards me again and again.

  By the time I head back to town, I know what my side of the bargain is.

  • • •

  When I open the door of the nearest cafe, I catch a glimpse of tanned lanky legs in workman’s shorts with muddy boots attached, under a nearby table. It’s Kinsale’s local treasure hunter, Dave Deasey, giver of broken necklaces and bare-faced liar to the police. To my surprise, he actually gestures for me to join him.

  ‘Odd Eyes . . . I mean Eliza,’ he says, ‘take a seat. You look like you could do with a coffee.’

  ‘A long black,’ I say to the girl behind the counter. I walk over to his table but I don’t sit down.

  ‘I just want to say at the start, it should never have happened. A teenage prank that got out of hand. No harm done and send me the bill for any cleaning.’

  My eyes close momentarily because my brain has no capacity to cope with Crazy Dave and his ideas right now.

  ‘She’s only sixteen,’ he goes on. ‘We all did dumb things when we were sixteen, right?’

  Too slowly the cogs start turning. ‘This isn’t about . . .’ I begin, and at the same time Dave, realising I don’t understand, starts backtracking. ‘Is that the time?’ He pushes away from the table, leaving his breakfast half eaten, but I have had enough and grab his fork.

  ‘Try to leave and I will ram this into you.’

  He looks at the fork and then back at me. ‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘You need to relax.’

  He sits back down and I take a seat as well.

  ‘Are you saying you know how my room got trashed?’

  ‘It was my daughter, Kayla. She had some idea in her head that, if you left town, Gavin would stop hassling me about that necklace. She’s a good girl.’ He watches me with anxious eyes. ‘No harm done, not really.’

  Another parent finding excuses. I think of Paul Keenan’s mother, and Luke Tyrell’s. Was my father ever reduced to this? Will Amy be?

  ‘How did Kayla know where I was staying?’ I ask.

  ‘Everyone knows where you are,’ he says. ‘You’re driving Mick’s Mustang. It stands out.’

  My coffee arrives. Dave holds out a hand for his fork and I return it. He starts spearing bacon with it.

  ‘Grace Hedland was only sixteen when she disappeared,’ I say.

  Dave becomes very conscientious about chewing his food.

  ‘Same age as Kayla.’

  ‘So what?’ Dave says. ‘Those bones weren’t Grace’s.’

  Obviously the story has gone round the town.

  ‘But the necklace you found is he
rs. Those bones might not be Grace but they belonged to someone like her, a young teenage girl. We don’t even know her name. What if that’s Grace in eighty years’ time? What if she is found after we are dead and no-one ever knows what happened to her? How is that going to change if we ignore evidence or lie about it? The world is pretty different from a hundred years ago and yet teenage girls still disappear.’

  ‘It’s not the same now,’ Dave says. ‘I’ve got Kayla this app where I can find her whenever I want. Track her down. Make sure she’s OK.’

  ‘Great, so you’ll know where her body is.’

  Dave gives me the sort of look that would crack stone. It was a cheap, emotional shot but I don’t care. ‘Grace’s mum thought she was safe with her friends.’

  Dave’s mouth sags enough to let me know that’s hit home.

  ‘I saw her that night,’ he says. ‘She was at the party.’

  ‘Grace?’

  ‘It was supposed to just be fun but it got a bit out of hand. I mean, you’d have heard about that.’ He looks around and then lowers his voice. ‘We were just stupid, not thinking. Too drunk to step in to stop stuff. Now I have a daughter it’s all different, you know. I see those women walking around town, women like . . . well, you know, and I want to say sorry, but it’s all too late.’

  ‘Did something happen to Grace there?’ My voice is urgent.

  ‘No, not Grace. Not that I saw. She wasn’t drinking for starters. Maybe that’s why she left. She could see it wasn’t a good place for a girl by herself to hang around.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘Wouldn’t know the time or anything. She was with Tony Bayless though. He might know. Anyway, we all good about Kayla?’ he asks. ‘I can bring her around to apologise if you want.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘What you are going to do is ring up Gavin and tell him where you found that necklace. If you want to do something to make up for the past, do that.’

  Very slowly he nods. ‘All right.’

  • • •

  It isn’t until the next day that I visit Amy and her daughter in hospital. When I get to her room, Stella Gibson, the intern from the Coastal Times, is taking a picture of the baby for the newspaper’s Hatch, Match & Dispatch column. Her hair is now a silvery-purple. Amy has refused point blank to get in the photo. The way she looks, I can’t blame her. It’s like a truck has mowed her down.