Sticks and Stones

by Katherine Firkin

  ‘I just can’t stop thinking about those markings on the women’s bodies; I’m sure that’s a message of some sort. What am I missing?’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘Killers’ signatures don’t always have a meaning. I’m more fascinated by the fact he bothered to re-dress them. That’s odd.’

  ‘Everything about this is odd,’ Emmett sighed. ‘And the worst part is I just can’t seem to think clearly. Every time I try to empty my mind and go through this rationally, more useless, disconnected thoughts keep popping up. Do you ever get that?’

  Bianca laughed. ‘Welcome to homicide investigations.’

  As they drove on, Emmett noticed the thoughts return, an incessant, looping mess of noise in his head. Rosemary travelled to escape the pain of a childhood trauma. Natale wanted time to herself. Daniel blamed Rosemary for his family’s horrific car accident. Natale’s parents were unimpressed with her choice of life partner. Tom had recently been featured in an article. Natale’s husband had a short temper.

  ‘Do you want me to sit in on your interview with Brian Gibson this evening?’ Bianca’s deep voice interrupted.

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ Emmett sat up straighter. He’d forgotten they were doing that. ‘Carter and Williams did well to get that security footage from the deli this morning. It will be interesting to hear his excuse for stealing cash from the family business.’

  ‘Oh no . . Not your double-life theory again?’

  Emmett ignored Bianca’s smirk.

  At this stage, he wasn’t prepared to discount anything.

  Cindy yawned as she stared out at the football field beyond, her little boy eagerly bouncing in his booster chair behind her.

  ‘I can’t wait to try a real game of footy!’ Nicholas squealed, as more cars pulled up beside them. ‘Can we get out yet? I think I see Mr Peters!’

  ‘Hang on.’ Cindy looked around to see what the other parents were doing. They were at a different oval from where Nicholas usually trained, for a quick practice match against another club, and by some miracle they’d arrived early.

  ‘Will Dad be here soon?’

  ‘I don’t think Dad’s going to make it,’ Cindy sighed, turning around and patting her little boy on the thigh. ‘He’s very busy at work at the moment. But he’s asked me to take lots of videos so he can watch you when we get home.’

  Nicholas frowned.

  ‘But Jake’s dad is coming, and William’s dad is coming.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart. But your daddy has a very important job, and sometimes that means he can’t always do fun things like other parents can.’

  ‘My dad’s a policeman!’ Nicholas affirmed, proudly.

  ‘That’s right.’ Cindy returned to staring out the windscreen. If only I had a very important job.

  She gripped the steering wheel.

  Stop it.

  Emmett had been working ridiculously hard over the past few days, and she knew he desperately wanted to watch his son’s first football match – he was the one who’d so eagerly signed Nicholas up in the first place, patiently explaining the rules when they watched games on TV together, and practising skills at the park during the week.

  A nagging guilt gnawed at Cindy.

  News of the women’s murders had been all over the radio that afternoon – she’d even heard a quick snippet of her husband talking to the press.

  ‘We are gravely concerned by the nature of these deaths, and are urging anyone with information to come forward.’

  It wasn’t his fault that he was caught in such a high-profile case during her first week back at work. And how had she responded?

  She shook her head. It was only a kiss.

  ‘Mr Peters is getting out!’ Nicholas kicked the back of her seat excitedly. ‘Can I go and help him set up?’

  ‘Okay.’ Cindy clambered out of the warm car, helping her son down and following as he dashed over to where his teacher had parked, a few spaces along.

  The football coach also happened to be Nicholas’s school sports teacher, and Cindy knew from the glowing reports she’d received that Owen Peters was something of an idol for her little boy.

  ‘Hi there, Nicholas, glad you made it!’

  Cindy laughed as she watched the coach fist-bump her son.

  ‘Do you think you can manage these?’

  Nicholas nodded eagerly, before carefully balancing a tower of orange cones at his chest and marching across the field.

  ‘Can I take that?’ Cindy helped the coach lift a bag of footballs from the tray of his ute.

  ‘Thanks. I’m feeling my age today.’

  ‘Wait until you have kids, then you’ll really feel old.’ Cindy laughed, but she noticed the teacher’s face drop. Perhaps that was a sore point?

  As a casual warm-up began, the sounds of leather footballs bouncing off goal posts, excited shouts and the occasional cry of outrage rang out across the field.

  ‘Pass it to me. Pass it to meeeee.’

  ‘Watch the ball, Evan!’

  ‘No, you’ve had your turn, go to the back of the line.’

  With the practice match about to start, Cindy pulled out her phone and considered the best vantage point from which to film her son.

  Out on the field the two team captains were tossing a coin. She waited until she saw which direction Nicholas’s team would be kicking, before inching her way around the oval’s cold steel rail.

  ‘I hope they teach them to man up,’ a father said to no one in particular as the children took their places. ‘Why is Darcy in the backline?’

  Cindy cringed, silently watching the start of play until the parent’s incessant commentary became too much, and she moved away.

  ‘Did you hear about Natale? They found her body near the creek.’

  ‘I know, it’s awful. Her poor children.’

  Cindy’s ears pricked up as she neared a group of women. Were they talking about Emmett’s case? They must be.

  ‘I wonder how long it’ll be before they arrest the husband?’ A pudgy woman with beady eyes and long acrylic nails snickered.

  ‘Who’s Natale?’ another woman asked.

  ‘Dario’s mother – you know, the Italian boy, the one who spat on Tremaine that time. He’s a real . . ’

  The stout woman stopped, aware the conversation was being intruded upon.

  Cindy shuffled forward.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying. Something about a body near a creek? It sounds terrible.’

  The women glanced at each other, silently debating whether this newcomer could be trusted with their gossip.

  ‘It’s all over the news, haven’t you heard?’ a young woman in ripped jeans ventured. ‘Those two women who were murdered? One of them had a son who played at this club.’

  ‘Here?’ Cindy found herself stupidly craning her neck, as though the boy might be hiding nearby.

  ‘Yes. And the really scary thing is that the woman dropped her children at a holiday program that was held here just last week, and never returned. So that could have been any of us.’

  ‘I hardly think so,’ the woman with acrylic nails scoffed.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Cindy asked.

  The women exchanged nervous looks.

  ‘It’ll come out soon enough anyway.’ A mother nursing a thermos shrugged. ‘We all suspect the husband’s done it. He was an absolute pig. He even got banned from the club for his constant outbursts. And you could tell Natale wasn’t happy.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘No,’ the woman chuckled. ‘But you could see by the way she behaved around other men that hers wasn’t a happy marriage. You know what I mean.’

  A quiet titter suggested the group were in agreement, but Cindy noticed that at least one mother looked decidedly uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you mean she was having an affair?’

  ‘I don’t know if it had gone that far, but she was certainly eager to cosy up to all of the fathers here, the coaches, even the umpires. You
couldn’t leave your husband alone when Natale was around, that was for sure.’

  The stout woman snorted with laughter. Several others chortled.

  Cindy smiled, but her chest tightened. How could they openly mock a woman who’d just been found dead?

  ‘Did you ever meet her husband?’ she asked, but the question dissipated in the air as a sharp series of whistles indicated the short practice match was over.

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’ The young woman in jeans immediately began manoeuvring out from the group. ‘See you next week.’

  In a matter of seconds the women had dispersed, leaving Cindy standing on her own, watching guiltily as Nicholas bounded towards her – she’d barely seen a moment of the game, let alone filmed any of it.

  ‘Did you see me take that big kick?’ her son asked, as they trudged back to the car.

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she lied. ‘You were great out there.’

  ‘I wish I had got a goal, though,’ Nicholas whispered as he allowed his mum to slip off his muddy boots, before climbing up and into his booster seat. ‘And they didn’t even let us keep score.’

  ‘I know, but it doesn’t matter. It was only a practice game. It was meant to be fun.’

  Nicholas swung his bare feet.

  ‘Are we at our home club on Saturday?’

  ‘Yes. This was just a one-off.’

  ‘That’s good. I don’t really like this club.’

  Cindy pursed her lips.

  ‘You know what?’ She gave her son a quick peck on the forehead as she clipped his seatbelt in. ‘I don’t think I do either.’

  Inside the small room, Brian Gibson sat with his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

  ‘I thought we were done with these meetings.’

  ‘Tell me why there was a bag stuffed with cash in your kitchen.’ Emmett didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.

  Natale’s husband snorted. ‘I’m entitled to keep my money wherever I want to. There’s no law against that, is there?’

  ‘You were stealing money from the family business. And I highly doubt you were disclosing that income to the tax office – so, yes, there is a law against that.’

  Brian’s lips tightened.

  ‘My wife has been murdered, and you’re worrying about my finances?’

  ‘Just tell me what was going on.’ Emmett slapped his hands on the edge of the table. It was late. He was in no mood for attitude. ‘You were unhappy? Your marriage was in trouble?’

  ‘I loved Natale.’ Brian’s nostrils flared, then sadness washed across his face. ‘But she wasn’t the same girl I met all those years ago. She’d changed. I probably had too. The relationship was over.’

  ‘You were planning on leaving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t got that far. I was just trying to save as much as I could so I could disappear and start again. I was thinking I’d head up to Townsville or somewhere warm. I know that doesn’t make me the greatest husband or father, but I wanted a clean slate – that’s not a crime.’

  ‘Did you know your wife was pregnant?’ Bianca’s gravelly voice was unusually soft.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew?’ The unflinching response caught both detectives by surprise.

  ‘Of course I knew. She was my bloody wife.’

  ‘And you didn’t say anything?’ Emmett couldn’t hide his disbelief.

  Brian shrugged. ‘It was pretty obvious she didn’t want the baby, and who was I to intervene? I was about to leave.’

  ‘Mr Gibson, did you ever hurt your wife?’ Bianca’s question hung heavy over the room.

  Brian fidgeted with his hands.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No.’ He slumped back in his chair. ‘We argued a lot. I might have pushed her a bit once. I never hurt her, though. Not really.’

  ‘We’ve been told you were quite aggressive with Natale – had a bad temper.’

  ‘Let me guess who told you that?’ Brian sneered. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t make me a murderer. I never hurt her. I loved her.’

  ‘And yet you were planning on abandoning her – and the kids?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Both detectives paused, the brutal honesty leaving them little to interrogate.

  ‘Did you know your wife had returned to study?’ Emmett remembered Francesca’s quivering lips as she’d recounted Natale’s promise to take care of her and Gino.

  ‘What?’ Brian’s pupils were wide.

  ‘Yes, she was enrolled at the local TAFE, and was about to complete a certificate in aged care.’

  For the first time, the man before them looked taken aback.

  ‘Really? Why? How much was that costing us?’

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you have no idea about anyone she might have met through the course, or who she might have been associating with there?’

  Brian mutely shook his head.

  After several further, unproductive questions, they let him go, Emmett staying behind in the interview room and watching from the window as his heavy frame slid into the mass of people heading home on a Thursday night.

  He was genuinely at a loss.

  He understood falling out of love with someone, but how could Brian have so casually planned to leave his two young children?

  Emmett frowned.

  It was heartless.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  He’d woken up early, far too early.

  Beside him the restless body of his girlfriend had tossed and turned, sweaty and sticky one moment, icy and shaking the next.

  ‘Come on,’ Owen had eventually groaned, pulling at the blanket he’d just had stripped off him. ‘If you can’t sleep then get up.’

  For a moment Charlotte had lain completely still, before skulking out of bed with an exaggerated huff, her naked figure silhouetted against the windows.

  Owen sighed as he now watched her eating breakfast in silence. It was not the tone he’d intended to set for the day, but why was she refusing to move on?

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he tried again.

  Charlotte looked at him with disdain as she chewed on a large mouthful of muesli, little flakes of wheat sitting unattractively around her lips.

  ‘Fine. Get yourself there, then,’ Owen finally exploded, picking up the cereal box from in front of her and hurling it at the kitchen cupboard.

  ‘You think this is how to treat me?’ his girlfriend screeched as she stood up. ‘You think this is how we’re supposed to be going into such a special day? If this is how we interact we shouldn’t even be having children.’

  ‘Well, we’re not, are we?’

  Charlotte gasped.

  ‘How about you try being realistic, for once?’ Owen crossed his arms and stared from the scattered muesli to his girlfriend’s gaped jaw. He recognised the familiar tremors in her voice, but he didn’t care. If she thought this was only hard on her then she was wrong. ‘It hasn’t worked before, why should it work now?’

  Sure enough, Charlotte’s face crumpled.

  ‘You bastard,’ she screamed, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door.

  Owen kicked the box of cereal.

  When Charlotte eventually emerged her eyes were red, her expression sour.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Owen opened the front door, watching his stroppy girlfriend take note of the fact he hadn’t bothered to clean up the muesli, before stomping to the car.

  Why were they putting themselves through this? He ground his teeth.

  They made the short trip to the fertility clinic in usual passive-aggressive fashion: Owen opting to turn the radio up, Charlotte just as quickly turning it down.

  It was only when their hands accidentally brushed against each other that the distance between them seemed bridgeable – and foolish.

  ‘Can we start again?’ Owen offered, turning and patting Charlotte on the knee as they pulled
into the clinic’s back carpark. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about it not working this time. I’m sure it can work. It has to work.’

  Charlotte pouted, fiddling with the blue sapphire ring she always wore on her right middle finger. ‘I just wanted to have a happy morning. I need to be relaxed so my body accepts this embryo.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  Hand in hand they entered through the familiar brown door, neither prepared to even breathe normally, lest they break the spell of calmness.

  Inside, they chose their usual white couch in the corner.

  ‘It will work this time.’ Charlotte stroked her belly lovingly, as though she were already carrying their child.

  Owen felt his eyes well up. ‘Of course it will.’

  But as his girlfriend flipped through trashy magazines, and he stared at the clock on the far wall, the demons of their past came back, taunting him.

  The eggs that hadn’t developed.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  The unsuccessful insemination.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  The multiple implantation failures.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Each attempt had left its own scar on them, and they were out of clean skin. If this didn’t work it wouldn’t just be the end of their dream to have children, it would be the end of them.

  ‘Charlotte?’ A nurse walked into the reception. ‘Would you like to follow me?’

  The man led them to a bright room.

  Owen watched Charlotte’s eyes scan the bed she’d sat in so many times before, her fingers shakily unbuttoning her jacket. Her face was losing colour.

  ‘You’ll be great,’ he whispered, unconvincingly.

  ‘Well, haven’t we had a successful batch this time!’ The doctor bowled in, bright white teeth beaming.

  Owen forced himself to smile. It didn’t matter how well the embryos fared in a laboratory dish, what mattered was how Charlotte’s body took them on.

  ‘You’re still comfortable going for the multiple implantation?’

  Charlotte rubbed her stomach. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re aware this may increase the potential of carrying twins? Though of course that risk is most pronounced in women under thirty-five.’