by Sue Williams
Something cracked against my skull.
‘We can’t tie her down, it’s unethical.’
I struggled to open my eyes, to get up off my back. My head felt like a train smash. The murderer had got me—but he didn’t want to tie me up? Seemed a strange, politically correct type of murdering. I managed to raise my eyelids. A figure in white floated nearby. I sucked in a breath. So I was dead? In a place where tying up was considered, but forbidden by a code. What type of place? I blinked and a name badge, ‘Wendy’, came into view.
‘Mrs Tuplin?’ A voice that was too loud. ‘You fainted and hit your head. Can you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear,’ I croaked.
‘I hope you’ll understand now why you should stay in bed.’ Some vicious tucking-in movements.
‘The murderer was here.’ My voice was raspy. ‘Donald Streatham, it must have been. He came right up to the door. I saw his shadow.’ I paused. ‘Mrs Flanders, is she…alive?’
‘Mrs Flanders is fine, apart from having her precious sleep disturbed by your antics. Now, you will NOT get out of bed again. Understood?’ She turned away. ‘She’s not in a marvellous state, Sergeant, her blood pressure is very low. Do you have to see her right now? Surely this could wait until the morning.’
Monaghan? What was he doing here? I turned my head. He was sitting on a chair against the wall, that long black leather coat draping across the floor.
‘It’s vital I speak to Mrs Tuplin now.’
‘Five minutes, that’s all.’
He nodded. ‘Understood.’ He paused. ‘You can leave us now, Wendy.’
But she sat down next to him, fiddled with her watch. ‘I’ve set my stopwatch.’ She smiled a plastic smile.
‘This is a confidential police matter.’
She nodded. ‘Four minutes and fifty-five seconds left.’
He stared at her, a stare full of longing hatred. ‘Mrs Tuplin is a potential witness to a homicide.’
At bloody last.
Wendy nodded. ‘Four minutes, forty seconds remaining.’ He stood up, a sudden, angry movement. ‘I need to speak to Mrs Tuplin privately. You will leave right now.’
‘Anything you discuss will be treated as completely confidential. You have four and a half minutes left. Or, of course,’ Wendy smiled sweetly, ‘you can do as I suggest, and speak to our patient in the morning.’
Monaghan turned his glare onto me. ‘Mrs Tuplin. Donald Streatham is dead. A traffic accident. It appears he lost control of his vehicle and hit a tree.’
I stared.
‘An empty bottle of Jim Beam was found on the passenger seat next to the body of a black dog. And there was a jute wool sack in the back of his van. The sack contains human remains.’
‘Mona?’ I croaked.
‘We don’t have a definite ID yet, but it appears to be the body of a woman of mature years, wearing a gold-coloured dress.’
I kept quiet. I didn’t want to waste the precious minutes Wendy was counting down.
‘We also found a laptop in the van. Your son Bradley’s laptop. What exactly is the nature of your son’s relationship with Donald Streatham?’
‘Relationship? They don’t have a relationship.’
‘We have examined your son’s emails and it appears he does have a relationship with him. So there’s no point in lying to protect him. It’s possible…your son is involved in a bird-smuggling ring involving Clarence and Aurora Hocking-Lee. Where is he?’
Bird smuggling? Brad? ‘He left. We had…an argument.’
‘What about?’
‘Just family business. Nothing important.’
‘Everything is important in a murder investigation.’
‘Brad just got into a tiny huff.’
‘You must phone me immediately if you hear from him.’
‘Is Brad…in danger?’
Wendy snapped me a look from her stopwatch.
Monaghan didn’t answer.
‘What about Clarence and Aurora, where are they?’ I said.
‘We will find them. We will find your son, as well.’ Monaghan had the kind of face that didn’t need his lips drawn into a thin white line like that. He’d look grim enough when he smiled.
‘Mrs Tuplin,’ Monaghan paused, ‘This may come as a shock, I’m afraid. It’s also possible your son…started the fire in your shop.’
‘Bradley? No way.’ Brad might hate the place but he would never torch it. Would he?
‘Did you see or hear anything suspicious that night?’ I shook my head, not a good idea as it turned out. I felt sick.
‘I understand you followed Donald Streatham on Tuesday.’
‘His dog bit me.’
‘You must stop meddling in a police investigation. It’s unhelpful and dangerous, especially for someone with your…mental health issues.’
‘Twenty-five seconds,’ snapped out Wendy.
I was starting to warm to Wendy.
Monaghan gave her a look designed to wilt, but Wendy didn’t seem the wilting type.
‘Is there any reason Bradley may have tried to kill you?’
‘Of course not. Donald’s your man.’ Clearly, Muddy Soak had been crime free so long Monaghan was out of practice. ‘Donald must have killed Mona and knew I was onto him, wanted me out of the way. I don’t get out of the way all that easily, though.’
‘Yes, I can believe that,’ he said.
‘Time’s up.’ Wendy shepherded Monaghan out.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling. At least the police were finally involved. Properly. Now that Mona’s body had turned up. But why was Brad’s laptop in Donald’s van? No way Brad would involve himself in bird smuggling. And he would never leave that computer. Not unless he’d encountered an emergency. What type of emergency? Panic rose in my throat.
Breathe, breathe. You need to think.
It must have been Donald who’d killed Mona, as I’d long suspected. But the more I thought about it, the more loose ends appeared. Aurora, for instance. If she was that ahlee93 on Brad’s email, one of that group of committed eco-warriors, surely she wouldn’t be smuggling birds? Had Clarence forced her into it?
I rootled out my phone, tried Brad again. No answer. He’d turn up, of course he would. I’ll show you he’d said. Had I driven him to do something stupid? Something bloody ghastly?
I transferred my stare from the ceiling to Mrs Flanders, snoring in her bed. Pretty soon, I’d be out of here, back to the disappointment of my life. Without my shop. Without even my dusty photo of Piero.
I’d have to think about what to do. Rebuild? I would have liked that trip around Australia with Terry. Bloody Terry. I hoped he was missing his stupid phone. I hoped he’d caught something deeply infectious from one of his other women, something truly painful.
And no doubt Vern would be on and on about his notebook, once I was allowed visitors. So that jute wool bag he’d sold, he’d said a woman came in and bought it, she must have wanted it to put Mona in. Have to be the same wool bag, surely. Couldn’t be that many jute wool sacks floating around the Mallee. So who was the woman who’d bought it?
It’s never pleasant for a person to be locked in a police cell by her son. There were no bars for me to hang from to rail about the injustice or even run my tin cup along. No filthy pail of excrement to pose dejectedly beside for a photo in the Herald Sun. A clinical type of room, white, it smelled of disinfectant. A screened window looked out on the dusty world outside. I had a door. A door Dean had locked.
He’d put some flowers in a vase. ‘There, that cheers up the cell…the room. And I’ll bring in the old TV for you, it’ll keep you occupied. Essentially, you’re free to come and go, Mum. Just give me a hoy if you need the loo.’ He’d left, turning the key.
I don’t know where Dean picked up such a warped idea of freedom. Through the internal window I could see him busy yapping down his phone. Had Dean always parted his hair like that and combed it down so neatly? The sheer tidiness of him had started to get on my n
erves. I sat, and the prison bench creaked.
Too early that morning, Doc Rangarajan had bounded to my bedside, pronouncing I was in outrageously good shape, all things considered.
‘And her mind is just absurdly clear,’ he smiled, giving Dean’s hand a hearty shake. ‘What Mrs Tuplin needs now is her family.’
Dean frowned. ‘Well, we’ll need a second opinion. Still, she doesn’t need to worry now, I’ll take good care of her.’
After everything, after all my investigations, after it turned out Mona was really dead, Dean didn’t say one word of thanks. He just push-guided me into his van and snapped on my seatbelt. He got into the driver’s seat.
‘Look, it’s attention-seeking behaviour on your part, I know.’ He started up the divvy van. ‘A cry for help. Melissa looked it all up on the internet. Well, Mum, we’ve heard your cry. You’re going to be fine, living with us. We’d never put you in a home, Melissa will always take care of you.’ He paused. ‘And I will too, of course.’
‘Melissa?’
He turned the van onto High Street. ‘Yes, we’ve talked it all over and she’s fine. Madison drops the ferrets off each morning on her way to work but Melissa will still have time for you.’ He paused. ‘I told her you don’t need help with eating or anything, not yet anyway. Melissa thought you could help with the ferrets on the days she’s at work. Madison doesn’t like them being left alone for long. They have a lot of health-care needs.’
‘But Madison won’t be dropping them off to you in Bendigo. It’s too far away.’ I rubbed my face, I seemed to be developing some kind of nervous facial twitch.
We sailed past the shops on High Street, Whitey’s chemist, the mural.
‘Madison’s moving too. She’s got a remedial massage job lined up in Bendigo. She and Melissa couldn’t bear to live that far apart.’
‘No, no,’ I said in a strangled voice. ‘Look, I’ll be fine living on my own. I’ll rebuild. My customers demand it.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mum. Not while you’re injured.’
Maybe he had a point. I was still having a bit of trouble breathing, especially when people upset me. I wasn’t staying with him long term though, just a day or two, while I recovered. And I wasn’t having anything to do with those ferrets.
‘I’m worried about Bradley,’ I said. ‘He would never leave his laptop. What was it doing in Donald’s van? Is Brad in danger?’
‘Brad? Don’t go worrying about him, Mum. He’ll have found a new demonstration to hang his banners at. Or some chicken farm or abattoir to trespass in.’
‘But he’s not answering his phone. Even Madison hasn’t seen him.’
‘I have enough problems at the moment without running around after Brad. He’ll be sulking somewhere. I’m not wasting police time on this stupid family. Not any more.’
He turned the van into his drive. ‘And Vern’s phoned Armed Robbery now. You know his niece’s ex’s wife’s cousin is a superintendent there?’ His hands were white-tight on the steering wheel. ‘I really need this bloody family to stop embarrassing me.’
Embarrassing? I couldn’t be held accountable for Vern and his hysteria. There was no way I was armed when I nicked that notebook. Not unless you count a plate of lamingtons as weaponry. ‘Listen, Dean. Family’s everything. Your father knew that. It’s a damn good thing he’s not around to hear you talk like this.’
‘Dad?’ Dean stared out the windscreen. ‘Ha!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Dean turned and looked at me. ‘Oh, Mum.’ His eyes softened, less the endless-night type of black, more like treacle. ‘I have to tell you something about Dad. Something important. Before you lose any more of your mind.’
‘I’m telling you, son, my mind is absolutely fine,’ I snapped.
But Dean carried on as if he hadn’t heard. ‘The thing is, Dad wasn’t, ah, exactly how you thought he was.’
I stared at him.
‘You know how he went away a lot?’
‘Yeah. He took all those photos. All over the place. Piero was an ace photographer.’
‘Yep, but he had another reason for travelling.’
‘What other reason?’
Dean took his hand off the steering wheel and gently stroked my arm. ‘He had another family, Mum. And you know the saddest part? Everyone knows, except for you.’
Something caught in my throat for just a second; a lost fly perhaps. ‘That’s not funny, Dean. In fact, it’s plain mean.’
‘It’s not a joke.’
I looked at his face. ‘So who’s this other family?’
Dean’s phone started ringing. ‘Sorry.’ He grabbed the phone.
Something hot rose in my throat. I flung open the car door and threw up.
Now, on Dean’s prison bench, I shifted uncomfortably. I held out my hands; they were still shaky. Dean was busy rushing around his station, dealing with phone calls from assistant commissioners, superintendents, Vern’s relatives. He seemed pretty stressed. It did cross my mind that maybe he’d made up this whole Piero-other-family business. After all, stress can do strange things to a person. I tried using that line of thought to reassure myself. It didn’t work. I needed Brad. He’d explain. I tried calling him again. No go. I tried Madison.
‘I still haven’t seen him,’ she said. ‘I was hoping he’d bring over something tasty to perk up Tim. Moving to Bendigo isn’t what my new little boy needs right now.’
‘Madison.’ Jesus, how to ask? Still, no point in holding back. Dean had said everyone knew. ‘Ah, do you recall Piero having any secrets?’
A pause. ‘What kind of secrets?’
‘Any kind. The secret kind.’
‘Well, I’m not sure he would have told me his secrets, Cass. He’d of told you first, wouldn’t he?’
‘I mean the type of secret everyone knew, except for me.’ ‘Oh.’ A long pause. ‘That type.’
‘So is there anything you’re keeping from me, Madison?’
A strangled swallowing sound. ‘Possibly.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Shit. Who told you?’
‘Dean. So who is she?’
‘Dean really is one heartless bastard,’ she said. ‘No offence intended.’
‘Who is she? Who is this bloody other family?’ My face was hot.
‘Look Cass. It’s not for me to say…’
‘Well, who is going to tell me then?’
‘Oh my God. Gotta go, Cass. Timmy needs me. Zara’s got his throat in her jaws.’
I put down my phone and groaned. Melissa was out in the dusty yard, hanging out some washing. Maybe I should just focus on normality, do my best to stop thinking about philandering dead husbands. And stay away from murderers too. I could try to be a better mother. Especially to Brad. Maybe I should apologise. But for what? Holding him back from the world? He didn’t need any help with that. I remembered what he’d said the day I went to Muddy Soak, the day I was all for forcing him into that undercover bird meeting with Donald. I couldn’t leave you on your own. Is that really why he was hanging around, instead of going to uni, getting on with life?
Dean got off the phone, unlocked the door. ‘That was Vern. I’ve asked him to come in. Now, I need you two to work this out. Be nice, apologise. Give him back his notebook.’
‘It got burnt. Look, I’m a fire victim, Dean. And I’m in bloody shock, after your little announcement. Does anyone care about that? Does Vern care about that?’ My voice grew higher. ‘And who’s to know Vern wasn’t working with Donald, even helped him torch my place? Vern’s always wanted to annex my shop. If Vern’s going to go around making wild accusations, well, so can I.’
‘Jesus, Mum. Calm down, will you? Offer to buy him a new notebook. Flirt with him. Anything. Just do whatever it takes to stop him phoning any more superintendents. My career is hanging by a bloody thread.’ He slammed the door and locked it.
I put my head in my hands. Why hadn’t I taken that stupid noteboo
k back? I should have known Vern would make a heap of trouble. I didn’t even get anything useful from it. The important stuff was on those ripped-out pages. Ripped out while Vern was out. He’d said he’d written it all up before he left for the pub. So the pages must have been torn out sometime between Vern going out and my arrival with my undercover lamingtons. Donald must have got there before me.
I remembered the rustling sounds I’d heard in Vern’s kitchen. Probably Donald in post-ripping mode, stuffing those sheets into his pocket. I stared out the window, searching for something green to rest my eyes on. Red dust, scrappy shrubs. Maybe we were in for another dust storm. Muddy Soak would probably get more undeserved rain.
Muddy Soak. I sat still. Donald was at the Muddy Soak police station that night, Vern had said. Been in there all night, the pub was full of it. So he couldn’t have been at Vern’s. My brain moved slow and careful. If Donald didn’t do the ripping, then who did? And why?
Monaghan was missing vital details, that much was clear. And Rusty Bore was a town without protection from a murderer. Quite possibly a less-than-satisfied murderer in search of further victims.
Stay calm, Cass. All we need is for Dean to solve the crime, properly. Catch the killer. And then Monaghan and the hierarchy would see Dean’s full worth. They’d reinstate him in an instant. I’d collect the facts, present them to Dean, that way he couldn’t argue.
My phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping it was Brad.
‘What’s this about you picking up a nasty dose of dementia?’ Ernie.
‘Huh. Don’t believe everything you hear. You seen Brad?’
‘Brad who?’
Maybe today wasn’t one of Ernie’s good days. No point in asking him about Piero.
‘Anyway, what the hell are you doing with my key?’ he said.
‘Key?’
‘That key you had. Day you wanted me to open up that briefcase. What the blazes are you up to with the key to my gun cabinet?’
My hand froze. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ When I showed him the key a million years ago.
‘You expect me to remember every-bloody-thing? I’m eighty-seven. Christ, when does a man hic get a break?’
