Life Before

by Carmel Reilly

  Pam shifted her arm around him and pulled herself closer so that their shoulders and upper arms pressed together. ‘I don’t think she can help anyone at the moment, sweetie. I don’t think she understands anything herself.’

  ‘It feels like a nightmare. It feels like I should wake up and everything is back to normal. It’s so fucking terrible.’

  ‘Shh.’ Pam squeezed him tight, as though physical proximity could remedy his pain. (Only a mother could be so arrogant.) But this time he responded and leaned back into her, his head dropping on her shoulder. ‘We’ll always be here for you, you know. No matter what. Always.’

  ‘I know, Mum,’ he said. ‘But …’

  ‘It doesn’t change a thing. I understand that. Still, here we are.’ So trite, she thought. The script of life. A thousand clichés strung in a row like fairy lights to signpost the way. And yet what other words could she utter that would be more apt, more true? There was certainly nothing she could say to erase any of it, which is all she really wanted to be able to do. The only thing that could have made a difference.

  After a while she took the flowers, a small bunch of camellias from one of the trees at home, and went to see if she could find a vase. She was hoping to find a doctor along the way as well, someone who could tell her how long Scott would have to stay in hospital. She returned to the room a few minutes later with a glass jar but no answers to find a policeman, his back to her, standing over Scott.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  The officer turned. He was from State Highway Patrol. A tall, heavy man, with moist red lips. Senior Constable Highett, he told her. Here to take a statement. ‘You’re the mother, I’m assuming.’

  ‘I thought you took a statement yesterday morning?’

  ‘We didn’t have enough time before surgery. Just the basics. Got the tests done.’

  ‘Tests?’

  ‘Drugs. Alcohol.’

  ‘And what did they show?’

  ‘Results aren’t back yet. Tuesday, Wednesday, we should know.’ He addressed Scott again. ‘Okay, as I was saying, I’m going to ask you a few questions. My colleague Constable Smit will be here soon with a tape recorder.’

  Pam drew closer to the bed, her face lined up near Highett’s. ‘Should he have a lawyer?’

  Highett took a slight step backwards, keeping eye contact as he did. ‘It’s an option. As are you.’

  ‘I’m an option?’ She could feel her cheeks smart as though she’d been slapped.

  ‘He’s over eighteen,’ Highett continued blithely. ‘He can make that decision, about who’s here.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ said Scott who had glanced up at his mother and could see the anger in her eyes. ‘I’m just going to tell them what happened. I don’t need a lawyer. I want you to stay though.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,’ she said sharply. Then turning back to Highett, ‘Are you going to charge him with something?’

  ‘No, we have to interview everyone at the scene. Look at the forensics. It takes a while for us to put a case together.’

  ‘A case?’

  ‘There has been a death, Mrs—’ he glanced down at the folder in his hand ‘—Green. In all likelihood there will be charges. First we have to determine what happened.’

  Still holding the jar of flowers, Pam walked to the other side of the bed and placed them on the bedside table. She leaned over, squeezed Scott’s hand and sat down in a throne-like green vinyl chair by the window, a kernel of anger still simmering inside her. She stared at Highett as he flicked through some papers and pulled one of two smaller chairs closer to the bed on the other side.

  Soon a second police officer came in, younger and friendlier-faced than Highett, with a folder, a pad, a small tape recorder and a couple of pens. ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling first at Scott then Pam.

  ‘Smit,’ said Highett by way of introduction.

  Smit put the paraphernalia down on the small table and Highett looked over at Pam. ‘As I said, you can be in the room, but you will have to remain silent during the interview.’

  Pam stared at Highett and wished she had the power of the evil eye. He really was so bloody rude.

  ‘Right,’ Smit said, leaning down and pushing the record button. ‘Ready to roll.’ He recited the day and time and Scott’s full name and read him his rights.

  ‘Tell me about where you were that night,’ said Highett.

  ‘We were at a party just out of town. Raki Parry’s place. We were there until about one in the morning.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Me and my mates. Troy,’ Scott’s voice faltered, ‘Mike, Josh Friar, Tom Pickering. Some girls. Katie, Julie, Melissa, my sister. There were a few people there.’

  Highett made him repeat all the names in full before continuing. ‘All right. What about before the party?’

  ‘I was at home. We had dinner.’

  ‘You were drinking there?’

  ‘Yeah, I had a couple of stubbies.’

  ‘So you left your parents’ house and went straight to the party?’

  ‘We went to the Northam pub bottle shop and bought some beer.’

  ‘And you supplied some of this to minors?’

  Scott hesitated for a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess I probably did.’

  ‘What about you? In the course of the evening did you consume alcohol or drugs of any kind?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can you tell me what and how much?’

  ‘Don’t know really. I was mostly drinking tinnies. I can’t really say.’

  ‘And drugs?’

  ‘Some spliffs. A few tokes. Not much. Mostly booze.’

  ‘So you might have had a dozen or so cans?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Over six or so hours.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you got in the car at one am to go home.’

  ‘Probably. But we weren’t really going home. Just driving around for a while. I had to drop Mike off first.’

  ‘Who was in the car?’

  ‘Me, Troy, Melissa, Josh, Mike and my sister, Loren.’

  ‘There seemed to be some confusion as to why Troy wasn’t driving his car, er, utility.’

  ‘He said he was too drunk to drive.’

  ‘And you didn’t think you were?’

  Scott stared at the cop, bit his lower lip. ‘I didn’t think about it at all. I felt okay.’

  Highett shifted in his seat. ‘Orright. So where did you go?’

  ‘Up the back of the hills.’

  ‘Were you driving the whole time?’ Smit cut in.

  Scott paused then, clearly surprised by this question. ‘Ah, no. Mike was driving for a short while. I was giving him a driving lesson on his way home.’

  Smit’s eyebrows went up. ‘I meant did you stop, but okay. Mike was unlicensed I’m assuming. Was Mike intoxicated?’

  ‘I guess. Everyone was. We stopped once ’cause someone needed a piss. Josh, I think.’

  ‘So can you describe the driving you were doing? Were you speeding? Showing off?’

  ‘A bit. Those roads are windy up there. Everyone does it. See how fast you can take a corner. It was a bit of a mix, I guess. Most of the time just cruising.’

  ‘And then you dropped Mike off?’

  ‘Yeah, Mike drove to his place. And then I drove.’

  ‘You seem to remember this all quite clearly.’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, I felt okay. Not blotto. I reckon I remember most of it, but then I wouldn’t know if I didn’t remember, would I?’

  Highett looked at him for a moment. ‘All right. So you remember the accident?’

  Scott swallowed, exhaled. ‘Yeah, most, I think.’

  ‘Can you tell us what led up to the accident?’

  ‘I was going too fast. Not super fast, just, I don’t know, too fast at the end. I know that. I got a bit distracted. I think Josh was yelling something. The music was loud. I kind of turned around.’ He stopped, a tear slid down his ch
eek. ‘Then I went to floor it and the wheels got caught on the gravel. Felt like the car slipped away underneath us. It all happened so fast. And slow too.’ He paused. ‘There was a scream. I looked back and we were going sideways and then we flipped over and there was this enormous crashing sound. Like an explosion. I can remember everything tumbling over. Stuff falling like in those shaky snowdome things. Then it was super quiet. The engine stopped. The music stopped. But there was moaning.’ He took several breaths, stared down towards his legs. ‘Oh god.’

  ‘Take your time,’ said Smit gently.

  ‘It was Melissa. I couldn’t really see her. Like the car had collapsed between us. Steam or smoke or something rising around us. And I thought, I have to get out, but I realised then my foot was trapped. I couldn’t move. I think I called out for Loz or Troy. I don’t know exactly.’

  Pam looked over at the two cops. They were both taking notes. Highett seemed strangely unmoved, but Smit’s face betrayed his sympathy, or perhaps his inexperience.

  ‘You managed to get out of the car?’ asked Highett.

  ‘I think Josh opened my door, tried to pull me out, but then he saw my leg.’

  ‘You were wearing a seatbelt?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m pretty sure.’

  ‘But not everyone was?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘Not Troy Druitt.’

  Scott made a small animal sound.

  ‘He was thrown out of the car.’

  ‘I didn’t see him. Loren found him. I didn’t see that. I heard her screaming. I was stuck and Josh tore his shirt off and wrapped it around my leg because of the blood. And he kept saying, ‘Just stay calm, man.’ He was helping Mel too. I think I passed out because there’s some bits there I can’t really remember. I do remember him telling me that he thought Troy was dead. I didn’t believe him. He was just saying something in the car. Yelling something. He was so alive. He couldn’t be dead.’

  ‘What was Troy yelling at you, Scott?’ asked Smit.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was he yelling at you to slow down, perhaps?’ asked Highett.

  ‘Maybe, maybe. I just don’t know.’

  ‘So you remained partially trapped in the car for some time?’

  ‘I don’t know how long. It felt like forever, but it also seemed like you guys, or the ambos, got there quick.’

  Smit spoke again. ‘You were lucky the neighbours heard the crash, called triple zero. That road might have been deserted till daybreak.’

  ‘Didn’t make any difference though, did it?’ Scott sobbed. ‘Troy died. I killed him straight up. There was never any hope for him.’

  Pam heard herself utter a tiny cry, but neither of the officers nor Scott appeared to have heard.

  Smit leaned forward. There was sympathy in his voice. ‘But you and Melissa survived. That might not have happened if you’d had to wait two or three hours.’

  Scott looked away, over Pam’s shoulder out the window. ‘Is Melissa going to be all right? Do you know? I asked the nurse here but she said she was at Goulburn Valley, and they didn’t know anything.’

  ‘She’s been transferred to the Royal Melbourne now,’ said Smit. ‘She’s undergoing some fairly major surgery.’

  Scott made a gagging sound, his bottom lip shook. ‘I didn’t want any of this. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’

  ‘I know, mate,’ said Smit. ‘No one wants anything like this to happen. It’s no good for anyone. We don’t like it either, to have to attend things like this. See you guys all beaten up.’

  Pam realised Smit must have been there that night. Des Robinson had told her that Highway Patrol had reached the scene first.

  ‘Well, I think that’s about it for now,’ said Highett after a short silence.

  ‘You have anything more to add, Scott?’ asked Smit.

  Scott pinched his lips together and shook his head.

  ‘Interview ended eleven-fifteen am.’ Smit leaned forward and clicked off the tape.

  Highett looked over to Pam. ‘We’ll be in touch in the next few days.’

  Pam stared at him vacantly. ‘Will you need to talk to him again?’

  ‘At some point. But we need to interview your daughter. Apparently she wasn’t in any state yesterday.’ For the first time a small smile passed over his lips. She wasn’t sure if it was sympathy or schadenfreude.

  Pam hadn’t been thinking about Loren. But of course she would have to be interviewed too, have to tell the police about her brother. Have to relive the whole event. After the police left, she got up from her chair, perched on the edge of the bed and put her arm around Scott again. After a moment he collapsed onto her shoulder and she held him close, like she did when he was a child, and felt his body heave with dry convulsive sobs.

  April 2016

  Melbourne

  Quin Street was not what she had expected. In her mind’s eye she’d thought Scott would be living in a cheap seventies walk-up plonked in the middle of a concrete car park. Instead she found herself facing a discreet block of twenties brown clinker-brick flats, complete with a cottage garden nestled behind a tall black-painted fence. She had walked up from the train station, not wanting to drive and try to find a park in the maze of tiny Prahran streets, and now here she was on the pavement double-checking the number, wondering if she’d got it wrong.

  From a few paces away she heard the click of a car door opening. A man in a shapeless grey suit emerged from the driver’s side holding a folder. It was clear he was the detective. There was something about the suits they wore, the way they held themselves, that rendered them almost as homogeneous as their uniformed counterparts. She’d had an impression of him from the phone call, imagined him beefy with a buzz cut. But he was lithe. Tall and rangy, with fair hair that fell foppishly to one side. Without the suit he could have passed for a university lecturer or a theatre director. The force had clearly loosened up since the last time she’d had to deal with detectives, a little more latitude than there used to be in the grooming department. Perhaps he too was sporting a tatt under his sleeve.

  ‘Loren Spyker? I’m Detective Sergeant Daniel Levandi from the Major Collision Investigation Unit,’ he said, hand outstretched.

  She took it and nodded. ‘Hello.’

  He tilted his head towards the flats. ‘Shall we go in?’

  In front of them, a block of eight flats. Number eight, Scott’s flat, was on the top floor. On the landing outside, Daniel Levandi hunted through an envelope in the folder he was carrying and fished out a key.

  Inside nothing was as she had expected. Much of the flat was original, with dark woodwork and cream stucco walls. The living room, first door off the hallway, was furnished with an old deco-style couch and chair, a coffee table and two bookshelves thick with books. Behind the couch, large bevelled-glass doors were permanently opened to the dining room where an old oak table doubled as a desk, with a laptop and a pile of papers at one end. On the far wall a sideboard was stacked along the top with more books, spines out. Another door opened to a small kitchen. Across the hallway, a bathroom and two bedrooms completed the general layout. Apart from an abstract painting in the style of de Kooning above the fireplace in the living room, there was little in the way of decoration. The second room, something of a junk room, although a fairly tidy one, was devoid of ornamentation altogether. The main bedroom held a double bed, some drawers and a framed painting of a mandala. She’d noticed that there were prayer flags over the door to the balcony, and a buddha on a shelf in the dining room as well. She imagined a faint smell of incense lingered in the air.

  ‘Seems like he lives alone,’ observed Daniel Levandi coming out of the bathroom. ‘No second toothbrush.’

  She wondered how expensive it would be for Scott to live here in this part of town. He must have a bit of money. ‘Have you found out what he does?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s one of the things I’d like to establish today. I did manage to track down your uncle, Peter Temple. He
hadn’t seen Scott for about ten years, and even then briefly. Unfortunately he couldn’t tell us anything about Scott’s life now. Job, partner, et cetera. Seems no one has really kept in touch.’

  Peter. She hadn’t thought about him in a long time. ‘Is he still in Northam?’

  ‘No, he’s on the Sunshine Coast. Said he’d been up there a few years. He was interested to hear about you though. Asked about you, where you were.’

  She’d never had a lot to do with her uncle and his family. Her mother and he weren’t close and, as a consequence, gettogethers were infrequent. She’d barely seen her cousin, Justine, who’d been sent off to boarding school at twelve. Lori’s abiding memory of her now was from those last few months she’d spent in Northam during the summer holidays, at the end of year eleven. She’d been staying at her grandfather’s and occasionally she’d catch glimpses of her cousin in the distance across the paddocks riding her horse.

  ‘He asked for your address. Said he’d tried to contact you before but hadn’t had much luck.’

  ‘All right,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Listen, I didn’t give your uncle any details about you. We don’t do that. Of course, I have his details if you want to contact him.’

  She nodded. ‘So what do you want me to do here?’ She could feel him looking at her, weighing things up.

  ‘Help me look through his effects. See if we can find out anything more about him. Work. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Whatever.’

  ‘What about the neighbours?’

  Levandi laughed. ‘You sound like my boss. Neighbours have been contacted. We’ve left cards for some. I’ll check them again when we’re done here. Nothing back so far. But that’s modern living for you, eh? No one knows their neighbours anymore.’

  ‘I know mine,’ she said, sounding unintentionally self-righteous.

  He gave her a wry look. ‘Impressive. I’m afraid to say I don’t. I’m never home.’ He sifted through the papers on the table, spreading them out. Bills for power and gas, a rates notice.

  ‘Looks like he owns this place,’ he said, pointing at the name on the rates notice.

  ‘Really?’ She hadn’t expected that. ‘He must have been working for a while, built up a bit of security.’