The Survivors

by Jane Harper

  The large screen normally reserved for sports was lit up with the local news bulletin as they pushed open the door to the Surf and Turf. The sound was off and images flickered as piped eighties music filtered from the speakers into the room.

  Lyn was again back in uniform, frowning as she pointed a remote at the screen and stabbed at the buttons.

  ‘They had the news crew here this morning,’ she said to Kieran and Verity as they came in. ‘Wanted to see what they got.’

  ‘Have Bronte’s parents arrived?’ Verity said as she placed their order.

  ‘Yeah, Chris Renn brought them in here. They only stayed for a minute. Didn’t say much.’ Lyn nodded at the noticeboard where a printed sheet had been pinned up next to the photo of Bronte. ‘There’s a community meeting being set up for tonight, though. Reckon they’ll be there then.’

  Kieran walked over. The notice announced details of the meeting at the Evelyn Bay library. Sergeant Renn’s photocopied signature was at the bottom. Kieran looked at Bronte’s face, then touched the collection tin on the table below. It barely moved, heavy now.

  ‘Here we go,’ Lyn said, pointing at the TV news. She tried once more with the remote, then gave up and resigned herself to watching without sound.

  The dark-haired reporter was standing on the familiar stretch of beach outside Fisherman’s Cottage, speaking into a microphone. The camera panned out, capturing from a respectful distance two people standing by the shallows, their faces ashen. Kieran didn’t need the caption to know who they were. Bronte’s father had cropped greying hair and was wearing a smart wool coat over jeans. The woman was short, like Bronte, and the same shade of blonde, cut to a crisp line at her shoulders. They were both dressed in navy. Not quite funeral colours, but close. Bronte’s dad pressed a crumpled tissue to his eyes as his wife placed a huge bunch of pink roses on the pile that had collected near the water’s edge. The wind caught the cellophane and toppled the bouquet onto its side as soon as she let go. Bronte’s parents didn’t move, simply staring at the heap of decaying flowers as though it may hold some answers.

  The footage was replaced by a smiling photo of Bronte, a new one Kieran hadn’t seen before. She was beaming in front of a framed painting Kieran guessed was one of her own.

  The image disappeared and Sergeant Renn filled the screen. He spoke into the camera, formal and stony-faced. Kieran couldn’t read his lips but he could guess what he was saying. If anyone has any information …

  ‘Are you going to this community meeting, then?’ Kieran said.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Lyn looked away from the television as a close-up of Bronte’s pink flowers flashed up on the screen. Her eyes fell instead on the kitchen where Liam had until recently worked. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

  Chapter 24

  They were early, but others were even earlier and the library was already busy.

  Ash’s dog Shifty was tethered by his leash to the bike rack outside, and Kieran rubbed his head as they passed. He remembered the day Ash had found the dog, lost or abandoned and lurking in a shifty manner around the delivery entrance of the Surf and Turf. Ash had felt bad and taken him home, where both the dog and the name had stuck.

  Kieran looked past Shifty now to a notice taped above the returns chute informing visitors that the community meeting was to be held in the function room. It was unnecessary. The thick hum of chatter drifted out through the bookshelves, and the room was already near capacity as Kieran edged his way in with Mia. Verity and Brian were behind them. Mia took one look at the standing room only and turned the bulky pram around.

  ‘I’ll park it in the lobby,’ she said as Kieran lifted Audrey out. She wheeled the pram away, disappearing past the audiobook stand.

  Kieran surveyed the room. Someone had offered Brian a seat and Verity was trying to convince him to take it. Eventually, the person in the next chair stood and gestured to Verity, who looked embarrassed but sat them both down gratefully, her grip tight on Brian’s wrist. Kieran swapped Audrey to his other arm and found a place to stand near the door.

  The rows of seating faced a raised area at the front of the room, where four chairs sat empty behind a table. A laptop was open and Bronte smiled out from two large photos projected onto a presentation screen. She was dressed like she was going somewhere in the first image, smiling like it was a special occasion. In the other, she was sitting on a wall in a garden in jeans and bare feet, her arm around a large sleepy-looking Golden Retriever.

  Liam was not there, Kieran could tell simply from the atmosphere. Sean had come though, as had Julian. They stood together in the far corner, their backs against the wall and arms folded across their chests. The weather-beaten man to Julian’s left was leaning towards him confidentially, chatting away while stabbing at the air with his folded sunglasses to make a point. The next couple along were looking anywhere else as they pretended not to have noticed either Julian or Sean.

  Julian seemed to be trying his best to ignore everyone, staring straight ahead with a fixed gaze and nodding only occasionally as the man rambled on. Sean had his head down as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Kieran tried to make eye contact, but Sean didn’t look up. The room was too busy for Kieran to fight his way over and, to his shame, he felt a faint stirring of relief that he didn’t have to make the choice.

  Kieran noticed movement and saw Ash raising a hand to him through the crowd. He was seated in the second row, his other arm slung over the back of Olivia’s chair, rubbing her shoulder blade with his thumb. Olivia’s mum Trish sat on her other side, her back perfectly straight. They watched silently as a camera crew set up near the lectern.

  ‘Hey, guess what? I finally met G.R. Barlin,’ Mia whispered as she slid in next to Kieran. ‘I caught him signing his own books in the recent returns section. We both pretended he wasn’t, though.’

  Kieran smiled. ‘I’m sure you were very tactful.’

  ‘I went for gushingly complimentary. I meant to say I loved his books and accidentally said I loved him. He was very gracious.’ Mia looked around the room herself for the first time, her smile fading now. ‘No Liam?’

  ‘No.’

  Kieran could see Lyn sitting a few rows over. Her eyes flicked to Julian, then she leaned over and murmured something to the woman sitting beside her, who looked similar enough to be a sister. The second woman’s face tightened.

  Kieran heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Sorry. Could I –?’

  He turned to see George Barlin squeezing in and took a step sideways to make room.

  ‘Thanks.’ George looked grateful. He was wearing yet another chunky cardigan. Kieran wondered exactly how many he owned. George smiled at Mia. ‘And hello again.’

  If he was at all embarrassed, he hid it better than she did. George took stock of the rows of chairs filled with people packed shoulder to shoulder.

  ‘Be here or be square, hey?’ George said, without humour. ‘At least people are more civil to each other in real life than they are online.’

  Kieran nodded. ‘I see that community forum’s been taking off.’

  ‘It really has.’ George’s face was serious. ‘People need to watch themselves, actually. A lot of defamatory comments are being hurled around in there. Especially as no-one’s been charged yet.’ He glanced towards Sean and Julian, who had barely moved.

  ‘Is anyone moderating it?’ Mia asked, reaching out to take Audrey from Kieran as the baby started to grizzle.

  ‘There used to be a couple of people. Volunteers, I’m guessing, but that was back when it was mostly rates and rubbish complaints. If anyone’s doing it now, they’re overwhelmed. There’ve been posts on there for days that should never have been allowed up in the first place.’

  ‘About Liam?’ Mia asked.

  ‘Some,’ George said. ‘Not all –’

  He broke off, taking a step back as Detective Inspector Pendlebury
attempted to edge her way in through the door.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, her words suddenly very audible as a hush of anticipation fell over the room.

  Pendlebury ignored it and threaded her way through the crowd to where Olivia was seated. She stepped in and leaned over Ash’s chair, bending in close to murmur something to Olivia. Kieran watched, along with the rest of the room, as Pendlebury tilted her head towards the waiting stage and then the door, possibly explaining procedure as a courtesy to Bronte’s housemate. Olivia sat very still while she listened, as did Ash next to her. It was interesting, Kieran thought, how no-one seemed particularly comfortable being seen by their friends and neighbours helping the police with their inquiries, no matter how innocent the exchange. Kieran looked over to Sean, who was watching them like everyone else.

  ‘The police are monitoring it now, though,’ George said quietly, his eyes on Pendlebury.

  ‘The forum?’ Kieran said.

  ‘Yeah. I think so. Occasionally a post will just disappear. But there’s a mountain of libellous stuff left up there, so my guess is they’re focusing on pulling things they think have some connection with the investigation.’

  ‘Stuff they don’t want people to know?’ Kieran said.

  ‘Or talk about, maybe?’ George shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’ve been trying to keep an eye on it. Work out what’s getting deleted, but it’s moving too fast for me to keep up.’

  Kieran pulled out his phone, unable to help himself, and saw Mia do the same. Welcome to EBOCH! Drop in for a virtual cuppa and a chat!

  People were doing a lot more than that, Kieran could see. An argument over whether or not to boycott the Surf and Turf ran over three pages. Kieran looked up and saw Julian’s eyes trained on Pendlebury. The Surf and Turf would survive, surely, he thought. People needed somewhere to eat or, more crucially, drink. Still, the fact that anyone was even suggesting avoiding the place was troubling. Kieran turned back to his screen.

  Bronte liked to have sex on the beach at night. An anonymous grey avatar insisted so. He – she? – knew someone at the gym who had seen her down there with a guy last month. Kieran had no idea if that were true. Judging by the responses, no-one else did either. He looked around the crowded room, trying to match faces with some of the comments. He didn’t know where to start.

  One reply had been deleted.

  The grey avatar still remained but the comment box was shaded out. This comment by Blainey82 has been removed for violating EBOCH guidelines.

  Kieran looked at it for a minute, then moved on. Directly below, Mia’s old music teacher Theresa Hartley had chosen to weigh in again, commenting on the original post.

  I don’t believe for a minute Bronte was like that. My granddaughter says she was one of the nicest girls at university. You can tell from this, she had written, and posted a website link. Her comment had in turn prompted a string of responses ranging from patient to furious, informing Theresa that it was entirely possible to be a nice girl while also enjoying consensual sex in a semi-secluded place.

  Curious, Kieran clicked on Theresa’s link. It went through to a page on a social media site that Kieran had heard of, but had felt too old and jaded to get to grips with every time he’d tried to check it out. It was an online tribute to Bronte, where visitors – mostly her fellow art students in Canberra from what Kieran could tell – had put up pictures and video messages. Some had shared sketches and paintings of Bronte, and quite a few had posted pictures Bronte had drawn for them. I can’t believe she’s gone, one girl had written. Theresa’s granddaughter, Kieran guessed by the surname.

  Kieran felt Mia touch his arm. She was still looking at the EBOCH page. She twisted her screen so only he could see and subtly tapped a post with her nail.

  Brian Elliott was seen on the beach the night Bronte Laidler was killed. Kieran felt his chest go tight. He checked the avatar. Anonymous and grey, of course. Not even a proper nickname, just a string of numbers. He walks around at night.

  Don’t, a reply said. He’s got dementia.

  He was also the last one seen with Gabby Birch. Remember that?

  Kieran felt sick. Across the room, he could see Julian was now looking at his own phone, tapping at the screen.

  ‘It could have been anyone,’ Mia whispered, reading his mind. ‘Liam will have told people about your dad wandering. Anyone could have written that.’

  ‘That doesn’t exactly make it better,’ Kieran said, glancing over to where Verity appeared to be trying to talk Brian into staying seated.

  ‘No, but –’ Mia broke off as there was a movement behind them and the collective attention of the room was immediately focused on the door.

  Sergeant Renn came in first and nodded to Pendlebury, their faces identically hard. There was a hush and a stillness in which it seemed for a moment like no-one else was coming. Renn half turned, then Bronte’s parents appeared at the door. Pendlebury had cleared a route and every eye in the place followed them on the long journey from the back of the room to the front.

  They were civil servants up in Canberra, Kieran remembered Olivia saying, and they dressed like it. They had changed clothes since the news bulletin and both looked as though they could be on their way to a business breakfast meeting, in crisp shirts and suit material. Kieran imagined them in their hotel room, trying to decide what to wear. Silently taking turns to use the wobbly ironing board. What was appropriate for speaking on behalf of their dead daughter? Nothing, was the answer. Or anything. Kieran guessed they had fallen back on the familiar clothes that at least in their normal lives offered some sense of being in control.

  Sergeant Renn remained standing as the other three took their seats. He picked up the microphone from the table and fiddled with the button.

  ‘Can everyone hear me all right?’ There was an affirmative murmur in the room. ‘Right. Well, thanks for coming, everyone. I think most of you know me. I’m Sergeant Chris Renn, I’ve worked here in Evelyn Bay for close to thirteen years. And this is my colleague from Hobart –’ He gestured down the table. ‘– Detective Inspector Sue Pendlebury, who some of you will have seen around with her team these past few days.’

  Renn checked his notes on the table.

  ‘You’re all aware of the tragic event on Saturday night involving Bronte Laidler, who a lot of us had come to know through her job at the Surf and Turf. Bronte hadn’t been with us long but had quickly become a popular face around here, and I know how shaken we’ve all been by what’s happened. Tonight we have with us Bronte’s parents, Nick and Andrea Laidler, who join us from Canberra.’ Renn turned to the couple, who had both been staring out at the sea of faces. They blinked to hear their names mentioned. ‘We’re very sorry you’re here under such sad circumstances, but our community welcomes you.’

  Bronte’s father inclined his head, short and sharp, while her mother mouthed something, tight-lipped. Thank you.

  Renn turned back to the crowd. ‘We know this is a difficult time and naturally raises a lot of questions, but we want to assure you that we are out there speaking to a lot of you, pursuing a number of lines of –’

  There was an indistinct murmur from somewhere to the left of the room and Renn frowned and stumbled, his train of thought broken.

  ‘Ah –’ He checked his notes. ‘Yeah. We’re pursuing a number –’

  ‘I said, why are you harassing the locals, Chris, mate?’ There was nothing indistinct about the words this time, and every face turned to look. Kieran could see the speaker now. A bloke in his forties, with the body of a surfer under his collared checked shirt. His hand was resting on the shoulder of a boy of about thirteen who could only have been his son. Kieran recognised the man. Heath something. He ran the Nippers lifesaving program with Julian.

  ‘We’re not taking questions now, Heath, mate.’ Renn’s voice was firm. ‘Talk to me later.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, but I’m
just asking why you’re wasting all this time talking to us, when we all know whoever did this has been back on the mainland for days.’ Heath nodded to Bronte’s parents, whose faces were frozen. ‘Look, I’m very sorry for what happened to your daughter. Believe me, I am. I’ve got kids of my own.’ Heath lifted his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘But we – us, here – we didn’t do this to you. And I want to know, Chris, what I’m supposed to tell my boy when he comes home asking why his mate’s dads are being hassled by the police?’

  ‘How about you tell him that’s what happens when someone is harmed? People get hassled.’ Renn didn’t bother to use the microphone this time. He held Heath’s gaze, then looked around the gathering. ‘Now, this is your community. Mine too. And I am happy for you all to sit here and listen to what’s being said. But let’s have some basic respect, yeah?’ He waited, then turned back to his notes. ‘Right.’

  The rest of Renn’s introductory wrap-up was brisk and, Kieran suspected, even shorter than he’d planned, and then it was Pendlebury’s turn. She stood and tapped the keyboard of the laptop and the photos of Bronte disappeared.

  ‘Please take a look at the screen.’ She tapped the keys again and two fresh images came up.

  A camera. And a laptop.

  Kieran’s eyes snapped to Mia’s – Laptop, too? she mouthed – and they both immediately glanced over at Olivia. The back of her head was perfectly still. Ash, partly in profile, was staring at the screen, his hand slack now against the back of her chair.

  ‘These are two items of interest,’ Pendlebury continued, pointing to the pictures. The images were catalogue shots, with close-up inserts of the branding. Pendlebury tapped the relevant identifiers on each, holding her finger against the screen until she was sure she had the audience’s attention. ‘Take note, please, of the make, here and here, and the model numbers – here, here. There will be fliers at the door on your way out with this information. I ask that you please take one or more, and pass them on to your neighbours who aren’t here tonight.’