The Good Daughter

by Brown, Honey

  ‘You probably wanted to be involved, but that’s not being helpful, what you did.’

  Kylie is saying to Cathy Bremen, ‘When they said she was on drugs I didn’t know they meant needles for diabetes …’

  Cathy Bremen explains, ‘She doesn’t have diabetes.’

  ‘But she has to have injections?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe she does shoot up?’

  Next time Aden looks up, Rebecca waves to let him know she’s leaving.

  The local police car is in the same spot Joanne Kincaid parked the day she went missing. Luke Redman is sitting in the passenger seat. Rebecca sees him as she steps from the bridge. He is watching her through the windscreen. Rebecca passes by the bin. He winds down his window. ‘Where you going?’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  He opens the car door and gets out. ‘I saw you talking to the girls.’

  Rebecca looks across the river towards the oval but keeps walking. Luke falls into step beside her.

  ‘What were they saying?’

  They come to a stop near the restaurant front gate. Rebecca turns to face him. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Why do you always have such an attitude?’

  Rebecca runs her gaze over him. She eyes the sweat patches in his blue shirt. She looks down and sees the dirt caked on his shoes. His neat crew cut doesn’t match the state of his clothes.

  Over at the game there’s a shout of That’s out! Two customers from the restaurant come out carrying coffees. They sit at a table on the veranda. One of them opens a newspaper. Rebecca glances down at the gate latch. She looks up at the restaurant door.

  ‘Don’t worry, they didn’t say anything worth reporting.’

  ‘I was just wondering if they were your friends.’

  ‘They’re not.’

  A couple of ducks waddle up from the riverbank.

  ‘The most disturbing call-out my dad has ever been to was out at your place,’ Luke says, out of the blue.

  ‘Fancy that.’

  ‘When your sister drowned in the wading pool out the back. Do you remember it?’

  ‘… Yeah.’

  ‘He remembers it. He says little kids, they get to you.’

  ‘I reckon they would.’

  ‘I’ve never been to anything like that.’

  ‘I’m sure something will happen to excite you.’

  ‘These guys think I’ve got bread,’ Luke says, ignoring her comment, motioning towards the ducks.

  ‘Is there something you want, Luke?’

  ‘Look at these guys,’ he says, smiling down at the birds milling around his feet. ‘They know me – I’ve been feeding them. I should name them.’ The ducks’ feathers are brown and stained under their bellies. Luke shows them his open hands. ‘I’ve got nothing.’ The birds pull themselves up taller and waddle closer. ‘I was gunna call these guys Huey and Louie and stuff, but this one is more like Freddy Krueger.’ One of the birds flattens out its body as though to rush in and snap at Luke’s heels.

  Rebecca says after a moment, ‘They’re fickle.’

  ‘Fickle?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What’s fickle?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Forget it.’ She opens the gate and steps onto the path. ‘I’m going in for some lunch,’ she says. ‘What are you doing?’

  His gaze grows curious. He cocks his head. ‘I can have lunch with you …’

  ‘I meant,’ Rebecca says, ‘what the hell are you doing standing here talking to me about ducks and my dead half-sister? I’m hungry. I’m going in. I don’t know what you’re doing.’

  His gaze tightens. His tone grows firm. ‘You might be surprised, Rebecca, at how cops in a small town aren’t always about throwing the book at people. We do try and help.’

  ‘Sure.’

  His eyebrows pinch in. ‘Sure?’ He glances up at the two dining on the veranda. He returns his gaze to her. ‘If we don’t charge somebody for something, or if we let something go, it’s because we know what’s really going on.’ He continues quietly, ‘You should have a little more respect for the system.’ His voice drops to a whisper. ‘I could help you, but you make it hard on yourself. I could tell you what’s going on, but it’s like you don’t want to know. Everyone’s got the backing of someone else in this town, but you’ve got the backing of no-one – you’ve got no-one behind you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Luke lifts his hands and spreads his fingers. He pulls a grim expression. ‘I wanted to help you, but you blew me off.’

  ‘When? When did you try and help me?’

  ‘Even now,’ he says in a harsh whisper, ‘I was being civil to you. I was trying to explain to you I know what’s going on, and it sometimes takes a different approach. And still you stick your nose in the air. My dad is pissed off about what’s happened. He thinks it’s unfair how you’ve been treated. He’s doing something about it. But … it’s like … you don’t want anybody’s help. You let yourself get set up for a fall. Don’t turn around when this is over and say no-one tried to help you. You were given a chance.’

  ‘When? At Aden’s door? That was my big chance, was it?’

  ‘And now.’

  Rebecca spreads her arms in exasperation. ‘Now? What have you said or done right now that is meant to tell me you’re trying to help me? The ducks?’ She waves her hand towards them. ‘Do you talk about ducks as some cryptic message to make me see you’re a real cop after all?’

  He sneers. ‘See …’

  She sneers back at him – ‘I do see. You’re trying to clear your conscience. You’ve never had any intention of helping me. There is no fairness to the rules – you make your own rules.’

  Luke turns and goes.

  Rebecca watches him. When he’s halfway across the car park she says, ‘Luke.’

  He turns around.

  She holds up her middle finger.

  35

  Zach shoots the dogs.

  The right person would give a nod at the efficiency of the clean dispatch, the way the first dog drops, the boxer, dead before it hits the dirt, and those critical seconds where the others spook but stay where they are, waiting for the boxer to get up, shake the blood and brain matter from the side of its head. The second dog is taken in those frozen seconds, and a third – you see, he’s standing with them, and they don’t understand. He’s been walking with them, they have welcomed him into the pack, he’s sat when they sat, he’s hung around the flyblown carcass of a sheep.

  If he could read the dogs’ minds he’d say that they had been building for a kill, waiting for the afternoon to lengthen, for the sun to set, and what he has done is killed them before their climax. He’s taken that from them.

  The final two he shoots as they run from him, at last understanding he is the killer, the thing to fear, the two sloping black-eyed German shepherds fleeing, skidding, nose-first, tumbling, as he brings up the rifle and drills them – body shots that knock the wind from them and have them scrambling to stand, shots shown to be crippling as they fall down, crawling like alien creatures through the tussocks, squealing and yelping as the pain and panic sets in. He jogs up to them. It’s amazing how much they know, the way they lurch between savagery and terror, snarling one second and then yelping like pups the next.

  A bullet each in the head.

  Crack, crack.

  And it’s over.

  In the sudden and quiet aftermath there’s the sound of the farm ute the next paddock over. Zach catches sight of it. The vehicle swings his way. His father has heard the shots. Zach has no time to think. He runs. The ute horn sounds, and this only compounds the problem – Zach’s father has seen him running. Shooting the dogs is understandable – running away from the scene needs explaining. Zach can’t stomach any more explanations. What might his father finally spell out?

  Zach sprints down into a dip, and along to where it meets with a gully. He uses the lay of the land to his advantage, keeping low, ou
t of sight. He trips and staggers. He’s represented the state in running, but he’s not moving fluidly now. This is nothing like any sort of running he’s done before. It’s no staged event. Zach falls and scuffs the skin off the heel of his left hand. The impact jars his shoulder. He scrambles to his feet. It’s as though he’s never experienced what it is to run – because nothing’s ever chased him. Until something is snapping at your heels, you’ve got no idea. It’s not graceful. His body seems ill-equipped. His football coach would tell him he has his weight pitched too far forward, he needs to straighten, his stride is much too short, he needs to relax his torso, regulate his breathing … He’s doing it all wrong. And the rifle – if he insists on carrying it – should be held across his body, in both hands; the way he’s holding it is throwing out his balance. Zach feels a long way from footy training now. He finds time while he runs to pine for it. He’ll have fresh appreciation for the harmless growls of the coaches after this, the cold nights under lights, the stinging rain against his face, fingers too numb to take out his mouthguard. How did he ever think training was a hardship? When his only worry was cramping up or getting caught on the receiving end of a Randy Columbaris tackle? Rebecca was right – Zach has had a sheltered life. He understands why she shoots off at the mouth, lifts her chin, jeers a little. She’s playing in defence. Who would have thought fleeing his father would make him realise that? Who would have thought killing her dogs and running like a child from the scene would only make him understand her better? Zach weaves through a stony section of ground. He looks to the trees ahead for shelter.

  36

  There’s still some light in the sky when Aden comes out of the clubrooms.

  ‘Never call me Kincaid,’ he shouts to someone over his shoulder. He moves as though he’s going to walk right past Rebecca, then grins at the last minute and hooks his arm around her neck.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

  He’s drunk.

  ‘They want to know if I’ll keep the sheep or go into agriculture – considering my skills with a crop. I told them I’ll take on the honour of being a Kincaid, and start planting poppies.’ His words are slurred.

  ‘You didn’t have to leave me at Nigel’s like that,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. All right now though?’

  Most of the cars have gone. The sun is a bright disc above the pines. A cooling breeze blows empty chip packets across the oval. Someone wolf-whistles at them from up in the grandstand. Aden holds his beer can aloft. ‘You better believe it,’ he calls out.

  ‘Jail bait,’ a young male voice yells down.

  ‘She knows, I’ve already told her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come over and watch me play?’ Aden asks his mother.

  Kara is picking herbs in the garden. Rebecca looks at how the angled light reflects off the oiled leaves of the lemon tree. The lavender stalks sway in the breeze. Cabbage moths flutter around the celery.

  ‘Too many eyes, too much gossip,’ Kara says. She has a basket by her knee. She uses a bread knife to cut the stalks of the plants she chooses.

  ‘You shouldn’t let him make you hide like that.’

  ‘I’m not hiding; I’m keeping my head down, like you should be.’

  ‘I had to play, didn’t I? I thought we all had to go on like nothing’s happened? It’s like every other thing he does, right? We swallow it and keep on our merry way.’

  ‘You can’t blame other people for what you’ve done this time, Aden,’ Kara says.

  She moves along the garden bed. She reaches for the basket. Rebecca leans down and passes it to her. ‘Thank you, Rebecca. You’ll have to come and work some more in the restaurant – Marc will not stop singing about you.’

  Aden screws up his face. ‘How can you be so calm about it?’

  Kara pushes to her feet. She tries to brush the dirt from her knees. Her bare skin is stained by the soil. ‘If anything has happened, if Ben has done anything, I will be as sad and surprised as the next person … and I’ll be very disappointed.’

  ‘You’re saying it’ll all have been my fault?’

  Kara picks up the basket. She looks at Rebecca and pulls an apologetic expression. ‘We’ll stop arguing now.’ She steps out from between the plants.

  ‘Are you saying it will all have been my fault?’ Aden repeats.

  The bread knife falls from the basket and Kara bends to pick it up.

  ‘I can’t handle you lying and protecting him,’ he says.

  Kara lifts her chin and eyes him. ‘Aden,’ she says quietly, ‘we will talk about it when you’ve sobered up.’

  ‘No, even better – why not wait till the next time he rapes and murders someone? Let’s just do that.’

  ‘You’re the only one who thinks that’s what’s happened.’

  ‘Bullshit! You said as much yourself this morning!’

  ‘Aden …’ Kara leans closer to him. ‘Ben Kincaid did not hurt me the way you think he did, and I’m sorry you’ve always thought that. But I’ve tried to tell you, you never listen – he was —’

  ‘You said as much this morning.’

  ‘Listen to me – he was young and mixed-up. I don’t know why he let everyone believe what he did – perhaps he thought it was what his father wanted to hear. I don’t know. I don’t think any of us can really understand what it was like for him. He hurt me in the same way he has hurt you. He left me pregnant to bring up a baby on my own, and maybe that does deserve some kind of payback, but not this.’ She glances at Rebecca. ‘Take him in and sit him down in front of a strong coffee, would you? You must wonder what you’ve got yourself into with this family …’

  ‘Are you saying Joanne’s fine now?’ Aden asks.

  Kara rubs her forehead; she leaves a smudge of dirt. ‘You listen to Nigel too much. Ben’s father may have been the hard man everyone says he was, but Ben isn’t. If Teddy is saying anything, it’s that you should distance yourself from Nigel Fairbanks.’

  ‘Don’t start pretending now that nothing has happened! Why are you acting like nothing’s happened? Don’t you want to get away from here, Mum? Don’t you want to get away from him?’

  ‘No. This is my home and where my business is.’

  ‘Is that what Teddy and he fought about? This place? Mum … ? If Kincaid has given you the restaurant, doesn’t that tell you he’s got something to hide? Do you forgive anything as long as you’re written out a cheque?’

  ‘Ben Kincaid,’ Kara says, suddenly indignant, ‘would have given me the restaurant if it wasn’t for Nigel digging around and making trouble. All Ben has ever asked is for me to be quiet. If I have the restaurant now, it’s because Ben wants to wipe his hands of us. You should be pleased about that.’ She takes a shaky breath. Her eyes are shining. ‘You can tell Nigel to back off now he’s got everyone at each other’s throats. And while you’re at it, tell him to stop using my back gate as his drug drop-off point.’ She looks away. ‘For God’s sake … what were you thinking, bringing it to the restaurant back door?’

  ‘Has Teddy found Joanne?’

  ‘In future, if someone suggests being abducted from or buying drugs at my back gate, could it be discouraged? Have you two woken up to the fact it is bad for my reputation?’

  Aden angrily glances off to the back gate and the riverbank. ‘I can’t believe no-one ever blames him. Kincaid is the problem – he is the start, the finish, everything. Him, just him.’ Aden jams his finger into the palm of his hand. ‘He’s the one to blame.’ He folds his arms across his chest and stands his ground. ‘None of this is my fault. And if you take this attitude, like it is … well, that’s fucked up, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, Aden,’ Kara says.

  It’s eight-thirty before they leave. Nigel turns up in his ute. He’s hunched like an old man over the steering wheel, still on his internal loop-the-loop. ‘When you’re fighting, you’re not thinking. You don’t think. There’s no time to think. It’s only looking back that you see how strange the whole thing is …’


  Aden stands with the ute door open, waiting for Rebecca to climb in.

  ‘Can’t you drive me home in the morning?’ she says.

  He waves her comment away. She climbs in and slides across into the centre of the bench seat. Nigel’s clothes are dirty, his boots are caked with mud, he smells of sweat and outdoors activity. The cap is low over his eyes. He avoids eye contact. Aden climbs in beside Rebecca. Nigel backs up the ute. ‘He wanted to fight – he had this look in his eye …’

  ‘Teddy’s got Mum the restaurant.’

  Nigel almost mounts the ute onto the kerb. He straightens the vehicle. ‘Really?’

  Aden shrugs. ‘That’s what they were fighting about – the restaurant. Not Joanne. Now they reckon she’s okay. Kincaid is let go, and Mum gets the restaurant. It’s the same as it’s ever been.’

  Nigel drives slowly down the road. ‘I knew it … That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you – nothing’s adding up. Teddy wouldn’t let us know whether he knew if something had happened to Joanne, especially now that he’s got your mum the restaurant. He wouldn’t hand us that information, right? And Kincaid wouldn’t run around throwing punches if he’d just murdered someone. Would he?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know!’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t.’

  Aden breathes out, exasperated. ‘So what if we took her up there! So what if her fingerprints are all over the car and shed – let them be. We’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t care about the money. I just want Kincaid fucked up – it’s all I want.’ Aden moves, swinging his whole body around to look through the back window and into the ute tray. ‘Just as well, too,’ he sits around straight again, ‘because your running around panicking has left us with nothing else. It looks like you’ve taken out the crop.’

  ‘Or how about Thank you, Nigel, for working your arse off all day, for getting things straight, just in case.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you to do it.’

  ‘That’s my point – someone’s got to think ahead, you dickhead.’