by Sarah Bailey
‘And?’
‘There’s definitely some juicy stuff. George Ryan’s company has majorly pissed off a whole lot of people recently. They’re cutting jobs across Australia and replacing them with overseas staff. There’s talk of dodgy deals, insider trading, the whole shebang.’
‘You think it’s connected?’
There’s a loud shriek down the phone and a girl’s voice is accusing someone of stealing her hairbrush. A tightness forms in my chest as I picture Felix’s family, the three teenage girls from the photo on his desk. Ben comes into the room and wraps his arms around my legs, probably covering them with pasta sauce. He looks up at me while I look down at him. His dark eyes sparkle in the dim light. I sigh into the phone as Felix shushes the teenage cacophony at his end.
‘Sorry. Anyway, look, I don’t know if it’s linked or not but it’s something. Maybe one of these disgruntled guys wanted to teach George a lesson?’
‘Yeah. Maybe,’ I say.
‘Anything else come your way tonight?’
‘Not really. Anna got the tox report. Rose was a bit pissed and had smoked weed in the past month but that was it. I spoke to Marcus earlier too, just to let him know how we’re getting on. He was polite but very vague. They want to have the funeral on Friday afternoon.’
‘Is Anna okay with that?’ Felix asks.
‘Seems so. She’s already spoken to them apparently.’
‘She could have spoken to us.’ He yawns. ‘Well, good, I guess. You never know who that might bring out.’
We agree to meet at Reggie’s before morning check-in and hang up. I pick up Ben and stand in front of the mantelpiece for a few minutes, looking at photos of Mum. There’s one I particularly like of us when I was about Ben’s age. We’re staring into the camera, our round moss-coloured eyes dancing with light. We look so happy. I brush some dust off the glass and run a finger along the side of Mum’s face.
Ben is heavy in my arms as I carry him back into the kitchen. Dad is wiping down the table and the kettle whistles from the bench.
‘Work?’
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘Still partnered with the older guy? Fred, right?’
‘Uh-huh. Felix.’
‘That’s good.’
I watch Dad make us tea, dipping the bags in and out of the mugs and squeezing them with a teaspoon. I almost tell him about Felix. About my miscarriage. My mouth opens and I inhale as if I’m about to speak, but the moment passes and Dad places the steaming tea in front of me and suddenly the thought of telling him is unfathomable.
‘Terrible business with the Ryan girl.’ He passes a sleepy Ben a Monte Carlo. I shift so Ben is sitting across my lap rather than clasped around me. ‘One of your cases, I assume.’
‘Sure is.’
‘I remember her, you know. Pretty little thing. She was in your prep class. I knew her mother. Olivia. She was something, she was.’
I sit up, surprised. ‘How did you know her?’
Dad stares at the wall, clearly accessing old memories. A smile plays across his face. ‘My old man was friendly with her family, I think. I remember her playing with your aunt Megan when we were young. They must have been in the same class. Olivia was very clever but always in trouble. And very beautiful, which never helps.’ Dad smiles at me. ‘I used to worry about you so much for that very reason. Still do.’
I swat his comment away. ‘Dad, come on. I hardly look like Olivia Ryan did.’
‘Well, you have always been beautiful to me, Gemma. Anyway, I remember hearing about her dying. Such a tragedy, leaving behind four children and never really meeting her baby daughter. Very sad. And now this.’
‘Yeah.’ My heart is beginning to pound as I piece something together in my mind. The photo of Mum and me. The old newspaper photo of Olivia and George. Olivia’s photo on the Ryans’ mantelpiece. The photos of Rosalind staring at me from the pin board at work.
‘So many things just don’t make any sense.’ Dad shakes his head as he sips his tea and watches Ben, who is licking his biscuit, turning it to mush. ‘I hope you figure it all out soon, sweetheart. And please be careful.’
A whistle screams inside my head as I give him a smile. My thoughts are wild. I’m pulling things together and checking them over, either pushing them aside or grasping at them to make sure they fit. I force myself to stay seated. Breathe. I shift Ben’s weight away from my stomach, which still feels slightly tender.
‘So,’ I say, a little too brightly, ‘what else have you been up to, Dad?’
‘Oh, this and that. Did some gardening on the weekend. Finally fixed Mrs Potter’s shed door.’
I’ve long suspected that there is something between Dad and the long-widowed Mrs Potter, but he has never said anything and I’ve never asked. That’s just how it works between us.
‘Was Ben good when he stayed with you on Friday?’
‘Sure was.’ Dad glances at my son adoringly. Ben’s mouth hangs slightly open, showcasing a dainty string of drool. ‘Slept like a little champion. What did you get up to, darling? Did you and Scott end up going out?’
‘No. Scott had a work thing. I just got takeaway and went to bed early. Ended up being a good thing seeing as it’s been crazy ever since.’
Dad nods, looking at me, his eyes worried.
I swallow back the rest of my tea and place the mug hard on the table. My throat is sore like I have the beginnings of a cold. I quickly stand and pull Ben onto my hip. Dad looks up at me, blinking, as if emerging from a dream.
‘Dad, thanks. This was great but we have to go.’
In the car I feel breathless, my thoughts whirling as I drive. My mind steadily working through my new theory in between glancing at Ben in the rear-view mirror, catching the exact moment his eyes close into sleep.
Chapter Twenty
then
Jacob gently pushes Gemma onto her back and sits astride her, pinning her against the bed. ‘Your eyes are the coolest colour,’ he tells her and she rolls them skyward in response before closing them and pushing him away. He can tell she is pleased though.
About six months ago his mother took him and Rodney to visit her sister, who lives in a small beach town south of Sydney. Jacob, who had never seen the sea before, trailed behind the others as they walked along the narrow curve of beach, kicking at the salty water and staring out into the endless blue. He cut his foot on a piece of glass, an old beer bottle worn down by the tide. Washing the sand off the glass in the shallows, he noted that it was the exact pale green of Gemma’s eyes. He watched with interest as the blood from his foot reached out into the water before merging with it and disappearing completely. He felt a pang of longing, almost jealousy, at the ease with which things in nature seemed to just happen and how jarring his own existence was in comparison.
Nothing flows in his world; it’s all sharp edges and impossible corners. Except for Gemma.
Jacob runs his fingers down the side of her face and she turns back to him, her eyes sparkling and her mouth angled for more kissing. She is so responsive to him, the nerves on her body come alive at his touch, her lips glow red when they kiss.
When he is with her he is happy, he’s sure of it.
‘Do you love me?’ she says, playfully, so sure of the answer.
‘Of course,’ he says, automatically leaning forward to kiss her.
And he does of course but there is a darkness too. He feels the weight of her need sometimes, tight around his neck, pulling something deep inside, and it makes him think crazy thoughts. He feels the weight of everything. He’s not sure where it’s come from but it is there all the time now, heavy and painful, across his chest and shoulders. Sometimes he can barely breathe.
‘What was that?’ she says, half scrambling into a sitting position, the blanket falling away to reveal her small creamy breasts, her soft stomach.
‘What?’ he says, kissing the side of her face and noting the fine blue veins pulsing in her neck.
She pauses for a
moment, eyes wide, before relaxing back next to him. ‘Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard Dad’s car.’
Ned Woodstock is at work. Jacob and Gemma came straight here together after school instead of going to the shopping centre with the others. They’ve been doing that more and more lately, spending time alone together, blocking everything else out. Being with her is like being by himself, an intense, amplified version of it. He carefully stores their moments together so that he can pull them from his memory and observe them, turning them over before putting them back in his mind.
But lately he has imagined alternate versions of their moments together. Versions where he smashes it all apart, breaking the precious glass of their bond and watching it shatter all over the floor. The pull of the drama, the desire for this intensity has been overwhelming sometimes, and he worries that he will just do it. Break Gemma’s heart. A strange ripple of want runs through him whenever he thinks about her reeling away from him in horror, but it’s always quickly followed by the unthinkable terror of destroying the person he loves more than anything in the world.
Just a week ago he stood on the side of the highway, on the sharp corner near the Smithson Town sign, and wondered at the possibility of stepping out onto the road. He imagined the rushing wind that would come as a truck bore down, the sheer joy in that moment of nothing. The temptation of being gone: no longer a person, no longer anything.
‘Hey,’ says Gemma, with only lightness in her voice.
Jacob blinks, refocusing on her lying next to him. She is his soulmate, he is sure, but she doesn’t understand. No one does.
‘Kiss me,’ she says, and he does, deeply, holding her tightly, grabbing at her frantically as they move together. Everything is clear and good again. He kisses her hard when he pushes inside her and she moans softly and he wishes that he could bundle her up and protect her, keep her safe from the darkness that is within him and everything that is to come. As he shudders into her he can’t help thinking that the safest place for her might be as far away from him as possible.
Chapter Twenty-one
Wednesday, 16 December, 7.41 am
‘Felix! Felix, I’ve got something, I think.’ I sit down opposite him. He looks up, interested but tired. A clump of gel makes his hair stand up oddly and I stop myself from reaching out to smooth it down.
He waves towards the bustling kitchen and stifles a yawn. ‘I’ve ordered you a coffee already.’
The newspaper on the table between us has Rosalind’s Mona Lisa face on the front page. I pick it up and toss it onto the next table, face down. I’m sick of her being everywhere.
‘Great, great.’ I feel energised by my theory. Alive. It’s a little cooler today and I blow-dried my hair this morning. It falls heavy and thick around my face. I toss it back behind my shoulders, ducking my head, trying to catch Felix’s eye. It’s not often I like what I see when I look in the mirror but I did this morning. ‘So don’t you want to know what I know?’ I ask him.
He laughs almost in spite of himself and grabs my hand briefly. ‘Yes, of course I do. Sorry. I’m just tired. Shit with Maisie.’
I pause. ‘That’s okay. I understand.’
Felix has described his eldest daughter as a dangerous volcano set to erupt. I can’t imagine navigating the delicate layers of a teenage girl—how to manage that raw energy—but Felix always seems fairly calm when he talks about his daughters. Not that he talks about them often. Home life is a dangerous territory for us so we normally try to avoid it altogether.
Coffees are placed in front of us and I breathe in the aroma, realising that today is the first day since Friday I have woken up feeling normal. My stomach feels settled. I’m lighter on my feet. I rub my foot along Felix’s under the table.
‘Don’t be doing that. We’ve got check-in soon.’ He smiles at me and everything is fine again. His eyes sparkle as he leans forward and whispers, ‘You look especially pretty today.’
I wave him away, pleased. ‘We’ve got check-in soon, remember.’
He gives my foot a soft kick. ‘So?’
‘So … I don’t think that George Ryan was Rosalind’s father.’
Felix’s eyes widen. ‘No way.’
‘It’s nothing fancy, just basic biology. Rosalind had brown eyes. Really brown eyes. George has blue eyes. So did Olivia. I saw a photo of her at their house and then there was one online too.’
‘Just like their sons.’
‘Just like Rosalind’s half-brothers,’ I agree, downing my coffee.
He looks at me, his own eyes glowing as he considers my theory.
‘Okay, okay. Look, I don’t know much about that kind of stuff, but surely it’s just an anomaly.’ He glances at his watch and gestures for me to get up. ‘I mean, how could no one have picked up on it before?’
He pays and we walk outside, crossing the skate park that leads to the station car park. It always strikes me as ironic that a skate park was built next door to a police station and, based on how infrequently it’s used, I assume the local skaters feel the same way. Despite the rapidly warming air, dew still kisses at the grass. The grey sky looks backlit with swirls of eggshell blue breaking through.
‘Well, apart from the fact that I’m brilliant, I guess no one really thought about it. Especially because Olivia died when Rose was only a few days old. People were probably pretty distracted by the idea of a tiny baby being left without a mother. And because Olivia wasn’t there as Rosalind grew older, maybe the comparisons between them were never really made.’
‘But George Ryan might have known all along.’
‘He might have. Who knows? Maybe he and Olivia weren’t even sleeping together. That would have made it pretty obvious. But, if they were, then he may never have realised.’
‘Rosalind might have known. Or found out.’
‘Sure. Though, equally, she might never have given it much thought. You tend to assume your parents are who they say they are.’
‘They might have both known and been really open about it,’ Felix suggests.
‘Maybe. Though he certainly didn’t mention it the other day.’
‘Probably not the best time for a family history tour,’ he says.
My phone trills and we both look at it in my hand. A silent number.
‘Going to get that?’ Felix asks.
‘No. It’s probably just my favourite reporter again. I keep forgetting to call her back. She can leave a message.’
Felix rolls his eyes at me. He doesn’t get my issue with Candy.
We step inside the station and the air turns musky with sweat, disinfectant and burnt toast.
I’m still focused on our genetic mystery. ‘George could have found out somehow last week and lost it.’
‘He was in surgery though, remember.’
‘Yeah, but his sons weren’t,’ I remind Felix.
‘What, you think they could be working together?’ Felix seems unconvinced.
I sigh. ‘No, not really. I just think we can’t rule it out.’
Felix pauses and taps the archway of the door as he looks at me, thinking. ‘Are we sure Olivia Ryan died the way it’s reported? Maybe George found out about all this a long time ago and flipped his lid and killed her once he knew the child wasn’t his.’
I pause too. ‘I think it would be pretty hard to fake an internal haemorrhage. But we should look into it. That type of scenario makes much more sense than a random psycho.’
We walk down the corridor.
‘Everything makes more sense than a random psycho. Especially if it’s like the guy I went out with last night,’ Anna says, smiling as she falls into step with us. She makes a gun shape and tilts it at her head. Anna’s bad luck with men is notorious around the station, so much so that many of the junior cops often feel bold enough to offer her the stability of an exclusive relationship, but she prefers to find losers on the net. Felix thinks she simply enjoys regaling us with outrageous stories to liven up our dull lives.
‘Roug
h night, Anna?’ I say.
‘Rough evening,’ she clarifies. ‘There was no way I was seeing in a new day with this guy. The night shift was bad enough.’ She laughs good-naturedly. ‘But I live to date another day.’
Felix laughs. I can hear the rumble of the waiting uniforms. They are still fresh and eager for this case but that will soon fade. We have one more week before the possibility that our case will become cold looms large, the hours start to feel pointless and new crimes begin to hold more appeal. Fresh cops tend to be like kids with a new toy at Christmas; cases only have so much appeal before they want to play with something else for a while. Us detectives are different. We tend to stubbornly hold on to our favourites until the clues and cast of suspects are prised out of our hands, and we’re pulled kicking and screaming away, forced to pay attention to something else.
‘Wait,’ says Anna. ‘Before you go in I just wanted to say that we’re going to release the body to the Ryan family today. We were pretty sure we would but it’s definite now. We’ve got all the preliminary tox in, which seems clear, so she’s good to go.’
Felix and I exchange glances.
‘You’ve got all kinds of samples, don’t you, Anna?’
She shrugs. ‘Of course.’
‘For example, if we need to match DNA to prove paternity, then there won’t be any issues?’
‘No, confirming the paternity for the foetus won’t be a problem. Or should I say disproving it.’
I don’t correct her assumption. The two paternity puzzles dance before me, the gaps I’ve started filling in my mind making way for holes again. Regardless of who Rosalind’s father was, it’s still far more likely that her own pregnancy was a factor in her murder.
‘Great.’ Felix puts his hand on the door handle again.
‘Hey, Anna,’ I say, my voice slightly bratty, ‘what are the chances of two people with blue eyes having a child with dark brown eyes?’
