The Dark Lake

by Sarah Bailey

  ‘Is there a manager on today?’ I say.

  Braids girl smiles at me. ‘I am the manager.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ I swallow my surprise. ‘Do you remember whether she came with anyone?’

  ‘She was alone, I think.’

  ‘Nah, she was with a guy a bunch of times,’ says the boy with ringlets.

  I spin back around to face him. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Dunno really,’ he says. ‘I just remember sometimes she bought two tickets. And I saw her at the candy bar with a guy.’

  ‘Young? Old?’

  ‘Ah, young, I think. Like your age?’

  ‘I reckon I saw her with her dad. Some old guy,’ the pixie-faced girl chimes in helpfully.

  I turn back to the manager, who is putting change in the tills.

  ‘You have cameras here?’

  ‘I think so.’ We both glance up to see a clapped-out camera that looks like it was made before electricity was invented.

  ‘I’m going to need your camera footage from the past few months. I want to see anything you have with this woman on it.’ I hold Rosalind’s photo up again and she stares out at us serenely.

  ‘Roger that.’ The girl with the braids waves in a clumsy salute. ‘Don’t know how to do it but I know it can be done. I’m on it.’

  ‘Great, thank you. Here’s my card. Contact me directly if you find anything. My guys will go through anything you’ve got.’

  ‘Will do.’

  A slow electronic ticker broadcasts a loop of pixels across the top of the candy bar menu, advertising the movies on show. I imagine what it would be like to head back to the boy with the ringlets, buy a ticket to some shoot-’em-up gangster flick, grab some popcorn and disappear into the darkness for a couple of hours. I can see Rosalind here: the faux European walkways are a homage to the world of art that made so much sense to her.

  Shaking my head, I wave at the ticket crew, who return it cheerily, and head back to my car. The air-con takes a while to get going so I stand outside, letting it do its thing for a few minutes. Checking my phone, there’s nothing from Felix, but there’s a text from Dad apologising and an angry voicemail from Jonesy apologising for the Candy article but also demanding to know where the fuck I am.

  As I get into the car, my eyes stinging with the transition from hot to cold, I notice a couple in a parked car about twenty metres away. The woman’s bright red hair catches my eye. I shrink down in my seat and watch John Nicholson and Izzy Mealor, heads bent close together. Izzy smiles at him before tilting her face so that he can kiss her on the lips.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Thursday, 31 December, 5.42 pm

  I go to the lake. It suddenly seems to have a magnetic pull, drawing me close. I walk a lap briskly and then another more slowly. I look out at the shimmering bed of glass, wishing it would part and show me the way. Footsteps tap behind me and blurry shapes form in the water but no one else is here, it’s just me and the whispering lake.

  Really, all I want is to speak to Felix. My body aches for him. I’m barely eating and I drift in between wakefulness and sleep with alarming ease.

  I should tell him about Nicholson and Izzy, but at the same time there is a delicious addiction to the pain of weaning myself off him. Plus, I know if I contact him and say I need to talk about the case, he’ll think I just want to see him. My anger at this likely assumption makes my blood boil. In the end I do call him, but it goes to voicemail, so I leave him a message saying we need to speak about Nicholson.

  I head back to the station. Everyone is out preparing for the inevitable dangers that come with one year transitioning to the next. The silence needles my brain. I run comprehensive searches on Izzy Mealor but turn up nothing. I can’t help thinking that her claim about witnessing Rosalind with a student is fuelled by jealousy. Perhaps she thought that Nicholson had a crush on Rose and she wants to posthumously cast her in a bad light. Or is she planting a red herring to put us off course? Whatever the case, Nicholson told us that he doesn’t endorse staff relationships and Izzy certainly wasn’t forthcoming about her romance with him.

  Perhaps they’re somehow in on this together. Nicholson might have gone to the school that night and somehow lured Rosalind to the lake.

  I want something to break, something to happen. This case is so still. Taunting me.

  I need to eat. Rustling through my drawer, I find a crumpled instant soup packet and mix it into some boiling water in the kitchen. My face prickles with sweat as I drink the hot liquid and I push my lank hair behind my ears. Restless and out of breath, I can’t seem to sit. I’m staring at the pin board when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  ‘Jesus!’ I reel around.

  Felix looks equally startled and steps away from me. ‘Sorry. I saw you standing there. I called you back but you weren’t picking up.’

  I grope at my pockets for my phone but it’s not there.

  ‘Oh. Must have left it in the car. Or maybe it’s on my desk …’ I’m lightheaded, his presence unsteadying me. He seems more solid than normal, somehow anchored to the ground as I struggle to stay upright.

  ‘So you have something new on Nicholson?’ His voice is all business.

  ‘Yes! Yes. I do. I saw …’

  ‘Gemma, you’re bleeding.’ Felix immediately softens, peering at the side of my face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got a cut on your cheek. Come in here.’

  He leads me to the disabled bathroom.

  I touch the side of my face as I follow him. My fingers are stained red when I pull them away.

  ‘See?’ Felix points to the mirror and I see a red smudge in front of my ear. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. I scratched myself, I guess. I don’t remember.’

  ‘It looks pretty bad. Here.’ Felix wets a paper towel and dabs it at my wound, which slowly turns from orange to red to an angry brown, exposing a fine scabbing line.

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘Gemma.’ Felix leans against the bathroom sink and looks at me, eyes searching, wanting an answer but I don’t know what for.

  ‘What?’ I say again.

  He pauses and then shakes his head. ‘Nothing. So tell me what you have on Nicholson.’

  ‘I saw him in Gowran today. At the cinema. The one in the middle of the shopping strip.’

  If Felix is surprised at my being in Gowran he doesn’t show it.

  ‘He was with Izzy Mealor.’

  ‘The teacher?’

  ‘Yes. I saw them kissing.’

  Felix nods slowly. ‘Okay. Yeah. Okay. That is something.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘So much for his views on staff relationships. Fuck, everyone in this town has something to hide.’

  The irony sits in the air between us but Felix seems too distracted to notice.

  ‘Maybe it was Izzy who took Ben?’ I say. ‘We know that the woman was probably wearing a wig.’ I’m charged with the possibility of a solve, and rattling around in my excitement is relief at the idea of Rodney not being a part of it. Of him simply being an innocent bystander who stepped a little too close.

  Felix sighs. ‘I don’t think so, Gem. The description of the kidnapper is much older. Izzy’s younger than you.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It could be her. She could have made herself look older. We should at least consider it.’

  ‘Okay. Okay.’ He holds out his hands and I realise I am in a fight stance, legs apart, ready to strike. ‘We’ll look into it.’

  ‘Good.’

  It’s cooler in the bathroom and for the first time in days I feel like I can find a way around my thoughts. I look at Felix, take in his clear pale skin, the strong profile, his cap of hair and dark lashes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I say at the exact moment he says, ‘Gemma, I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Why?’ I step away from him.

  ‘I think …’ He pauses, seemingly gathering his thoughts. ‘I think this case has messe
d with you. Perhaps more than you realise.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes! C’mon, Gemma. You’re all over the place. Not thinking straight. Now, I’m not saying you’re not doing your job, but it’s not healthy.’ He pushes a hand through his hair, his tired eyes on me. ‘I don’t think this thing with us is helping.’

  ‘Oh. Right. So you’re doing me a favour. Is that it? Poor little Gemma.’ White heat flashes in front of me as I draw myself as tall as I can. ‘I don’t think so. I think that you’ve had enough of me. Simple as that. It all got a bit too real when you met my son. Saw my house. Saw Scott.’ My voice breaks but I keep going, vaguely aware of the other Gemma in the mirror. ‘What happened, Felix? It got too serious? Too fucking hard?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gem. I just … I don’t know. I care about you a lot; I have from the start. But where does this end? I can’t see the end. Can you?’

  I’m shaking, suddenly ice cold. ‘I don’t fucking know,’ I screech, surprising myself. ‘I want you to have the answers. Don’t you get that?’

  ‘That’s not fair, Gem. We’re equals in this. That’s the deal.’

  ‘No.’ My voice has dropped dangerously low. ‘There is no deal. That’s the problem. That’s why you can walk away at any time like it’s nothing. That’s why you can still be sleeping with your wife and not have to explain anything to me.’

  ‘Gemma, please. We need to find a way to make this work. We need to—’

  ‘I don’t need to do anything!’ I whirl at him, my fist on his chest. I still want him so much. ‘I lost a baby, you know. Your baby. Unlike you, I’m not fucking anyone else, so I know that it was yours. So don’t tell me that you don’t know where this ends. That we need to find a way to make this work.’

  His face drains of colour. He blinks at me as if I am a stranger.

  ‘Oh, Gemma.’ He holds me briefly, strong arms on either side of my head, the musky scent of him almost as familiar as my own smell, but then he pushes away, shaking his head. ‘How could you not tell me? How? You have too many secrets.’ He cups my chin with his hands and looks at me as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. ‘I just can’t do this anymore, Gem. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.’

  He turns and walks out of the bathroom, the door swinging wide behind him. I look at the Gemma standing alone in the white cell, red-faced and heaving, her jaw clenching beneath a fresh crimson wound.

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Friday, 1 January, 8.40 am

  ‘Happy New Year, Woodstock.’ Matthews greets me when I walk into the station. ‘Weird how it feels just like last year, huh? Broken air-con and all.’

  ‘Sure does. And last year felt like the one before that.’ I smile at Matthews. He’s made a real effort with me since Ben’s kidnapping.

  Late last night Matthews called to let me know that some CCTV footage had finally turned up from the day of Ben’s kidnapping. It shows a red car, just like the one Grace from the day-care centre had described, at the base of the mountain outside a garden supplies outlet. That stretch of road is an obvious route for the kidnapper to take, so Matthews is treating it as the strongest lead we have so far. The driver is all hair and dark glasses, but there is a blur of a small white face that suggests Ben is in the back.

  The numberplates aren’t visible on the tape.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s not more, Woodstock,’ Matthews said kindly. ‘I want to put this one to bed for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said to him. ‘Hopefully it leads somewhere.’

  Now I am tired even though I was asleep just after midnight. I watched the rainbow explosion shatter the Sydney Harbour Bridge with Ben’s sleeping body next to mine as I sipped at a weak vodka. I thought about Felix as I counted down into a new year, his apology ringing in my ears. Scott had gone out with Craig. When I woke just after 5 am I had a text on my phone saying he was crashing at Craig’s place because he couldn’t get a cab.

  Stroking Ben’s head, I wondered whether Scott really was at Craig’s. What if he was actually at some girl’s place, locked in a desperate, sweaty tangle? Hours later I’m still trying to work out whether I would care either way.

  As it was, I started the new year with the obligatory health kick, boiling eggs and squeezing a dash of lemon juice into a glass of water. When was the last time I went for a run? October? Before the heat. Funny how I still think a token decent meal will fix weeks of abuse. Ben was ratty, throwing his spoon on the floor and kicking his small feet on the underside of the table.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Dad when I dropped him off. ‘He slept well. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.’

  ‘He’s fine. Don’t worry, Gem,’ Dad said. He’s been on guard since our argument. Tiptoeing around me like I’m a ticking bomb. ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, young man?’ he said to Ben.

  Ben scowled at him and then at me, and I reversed down the driveway wishing I didn’t need to rely on Dad so much. Alone, I drove to the station, the eggs digesting noisily in my guts, a faint memory rolling through my mind of Mum holding out an egg to me, laughing because she had stuck little yellow pom-poms on it, along with some orange pipe-cleaner and googly eyes so that it looked like a demented chicken.

  Kenny accosts me just as I’m heading to the bathroom. ‘Call for you, Gemma. It’s one of the Ryan brothers. He says it’s urgent.’

  Felix’s eyes meet mine before he quickly looks away. I straighten my shoulders and say, ‘I’ll take it in an interview room,’ and head into one. I don’t turn the light on and sit with my back to the wall as the phone rings.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, hello. Ms Woodstock. Detective, I mean. Sorry. I don’t really know what to call you. It’s Marcus Ryan.’ His polite voice carries lightly down the phone line, reminding me of a flickering candle.

  ‘Marcus, hello,’ I say as warmly as possible, even though my patience is nearing zero. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Oh, well, it’s my father, you see. He’s … well, we’re at the hospital. He’s been very unwell these past few days. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes, I called him the other day but he never called me back. Do you know what he wants to speak to me about?’

  ‘About Rose, I think. I don’t know what exactly, but it’s obviously important. The thing is, you need to come today. The doctors said that you should come quickly.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear he’s so ill, Marcus.’

  ‘Yes. Well. It has been a very difficult few weeks.’

  ‘He’s at Our Lady?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I place the phone down and sit in the dark for a few moments, steadying my hands on the table in front of me, before walking back out into the station room.

  ‘What’s going on, Woodstock?’ Jonesy’s obviously been alerted to the call.

  Everyone looks up and I feel small and shrunken standing in the dark doorway.

  ‘It’s George Ryan, sir. He’s still in the hospital. I don’t think he has long from the sounds of it. He wants to speak to me.’

  I carefully avoid looking at Felix but hope that he will decide to come with me.

  Despite what he said last night, I think that if we can just talk, spend some time together, surely we can work out how to patch the gaps that have formed over the past few weeks. Relax into our rhythm again. We just need time.

  I start to gather my things. I feel Felix’s chair slide out as he stands.

  ‘I’ll come with you, Woodstock,’ says Jonesy, walking briskly to the door. ‘C’mon.’

  I glance briefly at a slightly bewildered Felix before following after Jonesy obediently.

  ‘So he’s really dying, is he?’ says Jonesy, breaking the silence.

  ‘That’s the impression I got from his son Marcus,’ I reply.

  ‘Is this likely to be a deathbed confession?’

  Jonesy is driving and I’m having trouble keeping my hands still.

  ‘I�
�d be very surprised if that was the case. George has the tightest alibi of everyone. McKinnon and I toyed with the possibility that he arranged to have her killed—he certainly has the money—but that never went anywhere. But he obviously wants to get something off his chest. Maybe he knows something.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing that he trusts you. Good job there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Jonesy grunts and takes a corner too wide.

  ‘Sir,’ I begin.

  He talks over me. ‘How are you holding up?’ He keeps his eyes resolutely glued to the road and I realise that this is what this impromptu joint venture is all about. A chat. Sunlight cuts across us like blades as we fly past a wall of overhanging gums.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘A pretty rough few weeks.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’ve got a good little boy in Ben.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And your man seems solid. Decent. My mate Dan knows him. He’s in construction. Says he’s a good bloke.’

  I shift in my seat, willing the conversation away. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Suppose what I’m saying is that it can be hard to see the wood from the trees or whatever they say. You see what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’ve got a lot going on in your head, Woodstock. Kid, husband, this crazy shit.’ He flings his hand away from the steering wheel as if to point out the madness all around us.

  ‘Scott’s not my husband.’

  ‘Same thing these days.’

  Our Lady Private Hospital rises out of the landscape as we exit the corridor of trees.

  ‘Look, I’m not sure you and McKinnon are a good pair.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m splitting you up. I want you with Matthews and McKinnon with Kingston.’

  My throat constricts. I’m terrified I will cry. ‘But, sir …’