by Sarah Bailey
‘Nothing new, sir,’ I say. ‘We’re going to the play tonight in case something turns up. We have nothing solid on Timothy Ryan. Amelia Posen has confirmed he was at her place until around ten forty-five that night and he still claims he went straight home. As far as we can work out he’s telling the truth—the home security camera shows him arriving at ten to eleven. Takeaway for two ordered and porn downloaded onto Amelia’s wi-fi, purchased with Timothy’s corporate credit card. It’s not directly linked to him so we never ran it through the system. His blissfully ignorant brother is still claiming he thinks he heard him come in at about eleven while he was on the phone to Amelia, who did call him just after Timothy claims to have left her place. I think he’s a shitty person but probably not a murderer.’
‘It’s like Days of Our bloody Lives. Okay, well, I guess we play the waiting game. I know I don’t need to tell you that we’ve got one more week on this thing before I’m going to need to downgrade it again. Woodstock, you’re already briefed on the cold case, and McKinnon, I need you across something else from tomorrow as well.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right. And you’re both going tonight?’
We nod again.
‘Meet me there just before eight?’ Felix asks, trying to catch my eye.
‘Sure,’ I reply, without looking at him.
Chapter Seventy-four
then
No one is home at Gemma’s. Ned’s car isn’t in the driveway and no one answers the doorbell so Jacob cuts through the bushland at the back of the house and opens the gate to look into the yard—Gemma sits out here sometimes—but it’s empty. He feels desperate. He just wants to find her. Talk to her. Touch her. Nothing has ever felt so important.
After ending things with Rosalind last night Jacob woke up with a strange sense of clarity. The fog that had wrapped itself around his head for the past few months has lifted a little but it’s threatening to drop again. A brutal headache pounds through his skull as the seconds tick by. He needs to find Gemma. Needs to try to explain to her why he pushed her away. He’s made such a mess. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him.
He can’t fit all the thoughts in his head.
His pulse races constantly.
He is so tired.
The emptiness is closing in again.
He slept in this morning, which almost never happens. His mother was already in the kitchen cleaning. Cleaning, even though Rodney was still sitting at the table eating cereal. She’s always cleaning. Always scrubbing. The skin on her hands worn and grey. She asked him what he was doing today. She always wants to know what he’s doing. He hasn’t even told her about breaking up with Gemma. Never told her about Rosalind. He can’t imagine trying to explain it all. His head is all over the place. Even as he’s doing things, they don’t make sense.
But Gemma makes sense.
He goes to the school, to the park, to the shopping centre. She’s not working at the burger shack. Not in the food court. She’s nowhere. He lights a cigarette and sits against a phone booth, backpack between his legs. The smoke enters and exits his lungs, mixing with the air and disappearing into nothing. He thinks about what he wants to say to her. But he needs to hurry: the darkness is coming back.
And then he sees her. She appears right in front of him; her arms are around Fox. She’s laughing. Jacob shuffles around to the other side of the booth and peers out, transfixed as they link arms. She looks happy. Happier than she has been in weeks. Fox kisses the side of her head, his arms still around her as they disappear into the cinema.
After half an hour Jacob goes home because he can’t think where else to go.
‘You okay, Jake?’ His mother sticks her head into his room, her pale face pinched and worried. She is always worried.
‘Yep.’
She comes and sits primly on the end of his bed.
‘The police called here before,’ she says. ‘They said there’s been some trouble today. Something to do with a girl from school called Rosalind Ryan? There was some kind of threat made to her family. Something serious. They want to talk to you because they say you’re her boyfriend, that you had some kind of argument yesterday?’
Jacob blinks. He can’t seem to apply the required brain power to the scenario. His mind is full of Gemma.
‘Jacob?’
‘Mum, I …’
‘Jacob, sweetheart, I just think that until you’re clearer on next year, a girlfriend shouldn’t be a priority. I’ve noticed that Gemma hasn’t been here much lately, which I think is a good thing. But you don’t want to get involved with someone else. You need to focus on your future.’ His mother’s voice is firm.
‘My future,’ he repeats.
‘Yes. You’ll get uni offers soon. You need to make sure that you’re giving yourself the best chance at getting off to the right start. It’s very important.’
Jacob watches as the carpet pulses different shades of grey and the weave grows bigger and smaller like a beating heart.
‘It’s nothing, Mum. Really. We’re just friends.’
She gives him a look and then hands him a piece of paper. ‘I know you have nothing to do with it but here’s the number of the policeman. You need to call him back.’
‘I will.’
She leaves the room and Jacob lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He spies a lone cobweb around the light bulb. He tries to call Gemma but there is still no answer. She must be with Fox again. No one picks up at Rosalind’s house either; there is just a strange clicking sound instead.
Rodney is watching TV in the rumpus room. ‘Hey,’ he says, without looking up.
‘Hey,’ says Jacob.
‘Did you get that letter?’ Rodney asks.
‘What letter?’
‘Some invite, I think. It has fancy writing on it. I chucked it on your desk before. I found it in the kitchen this morning.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ he says. He sits with Rodney and watches TV for a few more minutes, but the fog is creeping back. He can’t stay here. He gathers some things together. ‘I’m going out, Mum!’ he yells from the back door.
Donna is hanging out washing and squints into the sun towards the house. ‘Okay, sweetheart. Did you make that call?’
‘Yes,’ he tells her. ‘It was nothing.’
‘Good boy,’ she says to him.
Halfway to the lake he realises he didn’t get the letter that Rodney put on his desk, but he can’t go back now. He heads to the tunnel. He feels safe there. His paints are in his backpack along with the gin he took from home. He feels like painting something for Gemma. He paints and drinks for almost three hours. Drinks and paints. Tears pour down his face. The darkness is back and it’s settled on his chest. It’s hard to breathe. He wishes that the tunnel would flood and wash everything away. He looks at the concrete in front of him. He’s made a giant glittering diamond for Gemma, all white and silver, but it doesn’t matter now, he’s ruined everything. He can’t see the way back. He sits in the dark, drinking. Rosalind had taken up all the space in his head and then suddenly it was like he couldn’t even be around her. He puts his head in his hands. It feels weighed down and he’s not sure he can lift it up again. Nothing makes sense anymore. It hasn’t for ages.
All of a sudden he’s outside. The gin and the soundlessness of the tunnel have made him float. He hovers over the ground. He can’t feel anything anymore. He looks out across the lake and can’t imagine coming here again tomorrow, or the next day. The thought of all that water just sitting there exactly the same.
Tormenting him.
He just wants it all to be over.
The desire for an end point is overwhelming.
He looks up to the tower and finally feels calm about what’s going to happen next.
Chapter Seventy-five
Saturday, 2 January, 7.44 pm
I stand in the fading light near the entrance to the school hall. The ushers are kitted out in outrageous seventies garb; sequins and glitter ca
tch the light. There are clearly a lot of repeat viewers in the audience tonight, several people gushing about how good it is. I recognise faces: Nicholson, Izzy, Timothy Ryan, several teenagers, shop owners and the other teachers. Donna Mason. Candy Fyfe. My red dress skims my thighs and I pull my shawl tighter around my bare shoulders. I blink away stray flecks of mascara.
At home Ben watched me get ready in quiet wonder, mesmerised by my unusual routine.
‘You look pretty, Mumma,’ he said solemnly as I kissed him goodbye.
‘Have fun,’ said Scott, looking me up and down. ‘I might take Ben up to Craig and Laura’s for a few days next week,’ he added, ‘but we’ll talk before that. Work out a proper plan.’
‘Let’s talk tomorrow,’ I replied, having no idea what I will say.
My phone shakes in my bag and I fumble to retrieve it from underneath my gun. I’m used to having pockets and a holster belt.
‘Detective Woodstock.’
‘Hi, this is Cara.’
‘Sorry, who is it?’
‘Cara. From the Gowran Cinema. We met last week.’
‘Yes. With the braids?’
‘That’s me,’ she says. ‘Sorry I’m calling late, I just finished my shift. New Year’s is big for movies.’
‘No worries. You find anything on the tapes?’
‘Yup. I’ve got our IT guy to zip up all the files and put them on a disc for you. He’s loved it. Thinks he’s on CSI or something.’
‘But he has her on tape?’
‘Sure does. Alone a bunch of times but sometimes with a guy as well.’
‘Okay. I’ll definitely need the files. Did you see the footage too?’
‘Yep. Some of it.’
‘What does the guy look like?’
‘Young. Like my age. Kinda hot. Great hair. Tall. And one of the guys that works here says he thinks he played basketball with him last year. Thinks his name is Rodney. Does that help?’
‘Yes, it does,’ I say, hanging up. As an image of Rodney forms in my mind, Felix steps into a patch of moonlight a few metres away. Beaming ushers start ringing little bells and waving everyone towards the entrance.
I step into line. A text comes through from Jonesy informing me that George Ryan has just died.
Felix’s elbow brushes mine as he shifts in his seat. He’s wriggling like a child on a long car trip. I am consumed by the likelihood that Rodney was Rosalind’s movie date but there’s nothing I can do until the play is over. I placate myself with the fact that he will be on stage, right in front of me, the entire time. He can’t escape. I tug at my dress and push my waved hair back to stop it getting caught in my lipstick.
Felix watches me. I can tell he is fascinated by my transformation too, but we are oil and water, our rhythm is gone.
‘George Ryan died,’ I say.
‘Just now?’
‘A few hours ago.’
‘Guess the brothers won’t be here then?’
Our conversation is curt, formal, and it takes all of my self-control to stop from grabbing his face and kissing him.
‘I saw Timothy out the front but maybe he doesn’t know yet. Or doesn’t care. I don’t think he and Bryce will be too upset by their father’s death.’
‘Strange family,’ Felix offers.
The music peaks and the lights drop as the curtains lift.
‘Aren’t they all?’ I say.
Rosalind’s imaginary world is a masterpiece. Rodney and Maggie’s passion is like a fragrance that wafts from the stage. Inner-city Sydney characters act as the chorus commentating on the doomed fate of the mismatched lovers. The Capulet parents are revered wine critics, judgmental and aloof. The Montague father is a wealthy white-collar criminal, the mother a high-class escort. The inner-city school is the scene for Ricky and his friends to bemoan their predictable middle-class futures. Jasmine’s loft is her refuge from the obligation of her family’s social position. The balcony scene is played out at a train station, the glamorous ball is the launch of a new wine. It is chaotic and perfect. Rodney is dazzling to watch. Gone is his shy, awkward stance; he is frenetic and bold against Maggie’s measured calm. Her words perfectly cut-glass prose, his lines passionate and tumbling, as they hurtle towards their inevitable doom.
My nerves jangle and I’m breathless as I watch their tragic demise in a blood-filled spa bath. I’m so wound up that I push out of my seat just as the clapping begins.
I desperately need to get outside so I mumble to Felix, ‘Got to go to the bathroom. I’ll see you later,’ and rush to the exit before he can reply.
Outside, I keep my hands on my hips and my eyes on the stars. I breathe, trying to pull the air into my lungs and simultaneously pull myself together, curbing the raging flood inside.
Rodney lied to me.
He said they’d never acted on their feelings. Never saw each other outside of school.
The possibility that he is the killer, that he smashed her perfect face, held his hands around her throat and watched her die, is making me crazy. Felix suspected him from the start. Maybe he was right all along.
Inside the curtain call is ending and I feel the rumble of seats lifting, excited talking, as the crowd prepares to pour outside.
I dart to the side of the hall near the boys’ change rooms. I can hear whoops and yells. The cast is already in there. Sticking my head through the door, I am hit with the musky scent of young men.
‘Hey!’ I yell.
One of the boys who was in the chorus looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
‘Get Rodney Mason for me. Now.’
He hesitates and then nods.
I step outside and wait.
Rodney appears, slick with sweat and make-up. He’s still high. He grins when he sees me. ‘Did you like it?’
‘Rodney, you lied to me.’
His face wobbles, unsure. ‘What?’
‘You lied to me. You were seeing her. I know you were.’
He steps towards me and for a minute I think he will hit me, and then suddenly he is running away from me into the night.
Chapter Seventy-six
Saturday, 2 January, 10.09 pm
Ruby Callister sticks her chest out a little without being too obvious. She feels dowdy in her plain black gear compared to all of the performers, especially now that it’s over and she has emerged from the darkness of backstage. She brushes away some cat hairs from the arms of her turtleneck. It has been such a difficult few weeks. Deciding to run the play again was the right thing to do but stressful as well. And without Ms Ryan, Maggie Archer has sort of taken over, which is okay but kind of maddening. She is no Ms Ryan, that’s for sure. Ruby looks at Maggie now, accepting praise as if she’s just won an Oscar. She remembers what Ms Ryan said: ‘If you’re going to go far in stage production, Ruby, you need to manage how you feel about the stars. That will be a big part of your success.’
Ruby knows she was right. Anyway, it’s all over now and she can start to focus on life after Smithson. She scans the crowd for her mum and dad. They are here somewhere, probably talking to someone they know.
As she’s looking for her parents, Ruby notices a short, pretty woman in a red dress standing in the shadows near the boys’ change rooms. It is one of the detectives working Ms Ryan’s case. Rodney Mason appears, still in his stage make-up and costume, and talks to her briefly. Then he takes off and the woman detective runs after him.
Weird, thinks Ruby. She spots her mum, who is waving at her with unnecessary excitement, her eyes wide. Ruby gives her a small wave back and starts to make her way over, just as another woman breaks away from the crowd and runs off in the same direction as Rodney and the detective in the red dress have gone.
Chapter Seventy-seven
Saturday, 2 January, 10.11 pm
I can’t see Rodney in the blackness in front of me as I run after him towards the lake. The air is hot and sticky but the smell of rain catches in my nostrils. Another storm is coming. The darkness pools around my body
and part of me wishes it would carry me away. Drag me under until I’m just floating in space. I hold my arms out and push past it. Rodney’s footsteps pound on the dirt and from the sound I think he is still on the main path a few metres ahead.
‘Rodney! Stop!’ My words come out in halves; I’m running too fast and the heat swallows them up.
The lake is to my left as I break around the bend and I catch a shimmer of water in the faint moonlight. I follow the steady beat of his stride, ducking thin branches that reach out across the path. Stones roll beneath my shoes and I land heavily on my left ankle, pain shooting up my leg. I run on. Rodney’s shadowy form appears briefly ahead of me on a bend and cuts to the right. I know that he is going to the tower. I knew the moment we left the school. Fear rises into my mouth and the déjà vu almost breaks me in two. The same feeling that I used to get from my dream about Jacob washes through me and I see his broken body fresh in my mind’s eye. Vomit surges up from my stomach and I swallow it down and keep running.
‘Rodney! Please. No.’ I’m nearly crying. But now it’s Jacob running away from me, not Rodney. The moon strobes white light as I pass through a thick patch of trees. I picture Jacob bringing a rock hard down against her skull. See Rodney’s hands around her neck, catch the madness in his eyes. A sob breaks from my throat as I gulp in the warm night. ‘Please stop,’ I huff through tears.
His feet hit the wooden base of the tower, his footsteps turning into a sharp staccato as he starts up the stairs. I can’t follow him there and yet my right foot is on the first step and my left is moving to the second. I lock my jaw and shut it all out. Focus on my legs, on climbing. Higher. Higher. I round the first level and glance down to where the moon reaches out across the water, making a white path across the lake. This is it, I suppose. Of course it all ends here.
I slow as I come to the top level. A sharp stitch stings my side. Rodney’s breathing tells me he is in the corner behind me and I turn and step backwards to face him.
‘Rodney, please. Talk to me.’
