Liars, page 20
JOE: Sal broke up with me maybe two weeks before she disappeared. I didn’t understand it, I thought everything was fantastic. I was crushed. Like, crushed. Confused. Angry. Dev was trying to tell me I had to keep writing songs with her, but no fucking way. How could I?
I don’t know if Seb had anything to do with it. I’m pretty sure he was keen on her, and I wondered if maybe he had been undermining me to her. There were times I was at their place and I could just feel that he hated the fact that I was with Sal. He tried to hide it, but I could tell. I guess I’ve never really trusted him since then.
DEV: It was all a bit Fleetwood Mac, except we didn’t come up with a killer album at the end of it.
GARY: It was like Sal was a light and everyone else were moths. Not the most eloquent analogy. She wasn’t loud or demonstrative, but whenever she was in a room, people looked at her. But just before she vanished she seemed to be getting very stressed. She was always really present, totally focused on whatever she was doing or whoever she was with, but in those last few weeks, she was distracted, anxious, almost zoned out.
I was worried about her. I wish I’d talked to her one-on-one more, but it was hard to find a chance to. First it was Joe, then after they broke up Seb was constantly with her, plus Dev was always haranguing her about writing. Given what happened, I wish I’d done more, but you almost had to take a ticket and get in line.
JOE: Do you have any idea why Sal disappeared?
GARY: I assumed it had something to do with your relationship break-up, plus the pressure from Dev. She was worried about money, too, because her mum couldn’t afford to help her as much as our parents, and she wasn’t doing well at uni. I think it all weighed on her.
Also, in our group she was kind of the centre of everything. Everyone wanted something from her – friendship, a relationship, love, attention, a hit song. I know what it’s like to be in the spotlight. It’s great in many ways, but it can also be exhausting. I’ve learned how to manage that, but I don’t know if Sal had.
I think it all got too much. She was run-down, maybe even depressed. She needed a break from everything, but she couldn’t face telling us because she’d be letting us down. So she did a runner to the Blue Mountains, where she was desperately unlucky.
LEANNE: So the wonderful, talented, saintly Sal stole my boyfriend, then got sick of him and dumped him. She was like a spoiled toddler – taking another kid’s favourite toy, then getting bored of it and chucking it away. Then, apparently, she was going to hook up with Seb. Maybe she did. Maybe she would have worked her way through all of them. Viv would have been keen. Terrified, but keen. Dev, too, just quietly. Not sure about Gary.
DEV: It was just such a waste. The band could really have been something.
‘That’s it,’ said Barb.
‘Aha,’ replied Seb, not wanting to start a conversation.
He hadn’t enjoyed listening. The reminiscing had started off sweet, but was now souring. It had been particularly unpleasant hearing others speculating about his feelings for Sal, and the last thing he wanted was for Barb to interrogate him. Better to hit it on the head before she tried.
‘What Leanne said wasn’t true, by the way,’ he said, staring resolutely ahead. ‘About Sal and me. We were just friends.’
He snuck a side eye at Barb, who was studying him.
‘How about some music?’ he added, poking his phone for Spotify. He hit ‘+’ several times on the steering wheel, pushing the volume up to a level that made conversation difficult.
CHAPTER 37
Next morning Seb drove to Sal’s mum Sabina’s plain two-bedroom wooden cottage at the end of a quiet, winding street on the hill. He had spent a lot of time there as a teenager, but hadn’t been back since Sal died. The cottage rested against the bush, ten minutes’ walk from the jetty, and he well remembered its friendly front porch containing a couch and chairs.
They had gone through the motions of discussing who would visit Sabina, both already knowing the answer. If Barb asked Sal’s mum for permission to release Viv from his vow of silence, it would prompt all sorts of questions about her involvement. Seb, on the other hand, had the uniform.
Sabina was a writer and, back when he and Sal were in school, had also worked a few days a week at Sue’s shop. When Seb visited, she was usually sitting at her kitchen table frowning at her laptop. Her novels still came out, every couple of years, more critically acclaimed than purchased, but Seb never read them in case they were influenced by the tragic murder of her only child. He thought about Sal enough already, without being prompted by a book.
Sal’s parents had separated when she was in primary school. Her dad lived in Melbourne with his new family. Sal had spent the occasional week of holidays with them, and he came up every now and then. She had said she didn’t really miss him, but Seb doubted it was that simple. Perhaps it was something they would have discussed eventually if they had lived the fantasy life he had spent so much time imagining.
When they all moved to Sydney, Sal’s level of parental financial support had been lower than his and the others’, and she worked a few days a week at a bookshop to pay the bills.
After Sal was killed, Sabina stopped working at Sue’s shop. He could imagine that everyone coming in with big eyes and sad looks, and ordering flat whites and burgers with sympathetic voices, would have been an extra form of hell on top of what she was already experiencing.
Seb had seen her about in the last few years. Sometimes, to his shame, he had dawdled or crossed the road to avoid her. Sal was their point of contact and she was dead, so what was there to say?
Now he stood nervously outside her front door. He wondered what it would be like to hear that your daughter’s unsolved murder was active again. Did it raise hopes, or just spark unpleasant memories that might have begun to fade, and cause another round of sleepless nights?
He made himself knock, then stepped back until she opened the door. Her hair had lost none of its frizz or blondness. She wore loose cotton pants, a red blouse, bangles, beads around her neck, and sandals.
‘Sebastian.’
‘Hi.’ It still felt too weird to call her by her first name.
‘Has anything—’
‘No, no, nothing. Sorry. Can I come in?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She pointed him to a comfy, busy-looking lounge room, crammed with vases, potted plants, bowls, candle holders and several small patterned carpets, two of which were hung on the wall. Or were they tapestries? Was a tapestry just a vertical carpet? They sat on perpendicular blue couches and she leaned forward, a light frown on her face. The cops’ curse. Everyone you visited expected bad news.
‘I’m sorry to bring this up,’ he started, ‘but we’re looking at a new angle on Sal’s death. It’s probably nothing, but we just want to make sure, and we need your help to do it.’ He explained Viv’s predicament, and how she could ungag him.
‘I suppose it’s okay. If it might help.’
‘It’s probably nothing. She might have been discussing a tenancy agreement, or how to protect the songs she wrote, or making a will …’ He stopped. Idiot! ‘Sorry. Stupid thing to say. Anyway, if it’s okay can you text me that you give Viv permission to talk to me so I can show him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Did Joe talk to you about this at all?’
She shook her head. ‘I only saw him once after he moved back, at the shop a few weeks ago. He looked terrified and almost ran out.’
He stood. ‘How’s the writing going?’
‘A word at a time,’ she said with a smile. ‘And most of them are the wrong ones, at first. Still, “Your blessing in life is when you find the torture you’re comfortable with.”’
‘The Dalai Lama?’
‘Jerry Seinfeld. About writing jokes.’
‘I’ll have to think about that one.’
He was at the front door when she spoke up. ‘Sebastian. I don’t … Don’t give me progress reports. None. I don’t want to keep hearing about it. If you solve it, tell me, but don’t expect me to be excited. I’ve never understood that “getting closure by bringing the killers to justice” bullshit.’
He nodded, and left her alone.
CHAPTER 38
Viv fiddled with the perfect knot in his tie as he studied the text. ‘It should be something signed by her, really.’
‘Feel free to ring her yourself,’ said Seb. He and Barb faced Viv, his near-empty, uber-neat desk between them. His ground-floor Woy Woy office had a bookshelf, carpet, even a painting, but, like its occupant, lacked warmth. It felt like a showroom office, made up to look like the real thing.
At least Viv had agreed to see them at short notice. Seb had rung him straight after seeing Sabina. ‘You might as well come now,’ Viv had said begrudgingly, making Seb suspect his business was not exactly booming.
‘I guess it will do,’ allowed Viv.
‘Great,’ said Barb. ‘So. When did Sal contact you?’
‘Technically, her mother only gave me permission to talk to Seb.’
‘For God’s—’ Barb stopped herself. ‘Fine. Look at him when you answer. You’re talking to him. I just happen to be here.’
Viv didn’t look like he loved the idea, but started to talk. ‘I looked it up. Thirteen days before she died, Sal called me wanting some legal advice. I was working at a small firm in Parramatta, my first job out of university. She said it had to be confidential. I told her if she engaged me as her lawyer I wouldn’t be allowed to tell anyone, but to do that she had to pay me a retainer.’ He allowed himself a modest smile. ‘I charged her one dollar.’
Bully for you, thought Seb.
‘The next day she came to see me.’
‘Did she tell you where she was living?’
‘I had to get her address for the file, so yes. Leura.’
‘You must have been curious why she had left Sydney and the band so abruptly,’ said Barb.
‘It wasn’t a social occasion,’ said Viv primly, sitting ramrod straight, his hands resting on the edge of his desk so he looked as if he was peering over a parapet. ‘I was curious, but she was my client and she wanted legal advice.’
‘No small talk then?’ asked Seb.
‘No.’
‘What advice did she want?’ asked Barb.
‘Initially, she wanted to know the difference between indecent assault and sexual assault.’
The air seemed to shrink back against the walls. No one said anything for a while.
When he could breathe again, Seb asked, ‘Why?’
‘She was unsure which offence she had been the victim of,’ said Viv, looking resolutely at Seb. ‘I explained to her that indecent assault, now called sexual touching, was, as the name suggests, any touching of a sexual nature, maximum sentence five years in jail, whereas sexual assault must involve penetration, and is a more serious offence with a maximum sentence of fourteen years.’
Seb felt a rushing in his ears.
‘The poor girl. Did she say which it was?’ asked Barb.
‘Yes. Sexual touching. No penetration,’ Viv said impassively.
‘What sort of … what happened?’ stumbled Seb.
‘She didn’t give any specifics. All I know is that it was an assault of a sexual nature. She shared nothing about the perpetrator, not even their gender. She referred to the person as “they” throughout. She wanted to know what would happen if a victim of sexual touching reported it.’
‘What did you tell her?’ asked Barb.
‘That if she went to the police, they would take a statement from her, investigate and decide if there was enough evidence to charge the person. And that would involve interviewing the person who allegedly assaulted her.’
‘You said, “allegedly”,’ said Barb. ‘Did you doubt what she told you?’
‘Us lawyers always say “allegedly”.’
‘Shouldn’t that be, “us lawyers allegedly always say ‘allegedly’,”’ said Barb, before she could stop herself.
Viv stared blankly at her. ‘Sal said there were no witnesses, so the only people who really know what happened are her and the alleged perpetrator.’
‘What else did you tell her?’ said Seb.
‘That if they did charge the person, and they pleaded not guilty, there might be a delay of some months and then she would have to give evidence in court. Then she would be cross-examined by their lawyer who would suggest, perhaps repeatedly, that she was lying. I told her that many victims find that an unpleasant experience.’
‘Did the incident happen after she moved to the Blue Mountains, or before?’ asked Barb.
‘I assumed it was something that happened in the Blue Mountains, because the conversation occurred over five months after she moved there. But she didn’t say.’
‘And no clues if it happened at her home or a workplace or …?’
‘None. I asked her if there was any corroborating evidence that would back up her account. She said that during the assault, to defend herself, she hit the person on the nose, and their blood spurted onto her shirt. She had the shirt, and hadn’t washed it.’
‘Did she have the shirt with her? Did you see it?’ asked Seb.
‘No and no.’
‘Her flatmate remembers seeing the shirt,’ said Barb, ‘but says it wasn’t there after Sal died. Any idea what happened to it?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t of great evidentiary value. Even if you could get a DNA test to match the blood with the person she said assaulted her, all it proves that he or she was near Sal’s shirt while bleeding. Not that they assaulted her.’
‘What do you think would have happened if she had reported it to police?’ asked Barb.
‘Seb would know better than me. She said there were no witnesses, no medical evidence, she hadn’t immediately sought treatment or told anyone. Seb?’
‘We often charge on a victim’s uncorroborated evidence, but it’s hard to convict on it. Her word against theirs. Hard to get to beyond reasonable doubt on that. But it happens sometimes.’
‘Agree,’ said Viv. ‘That’s what I told her.’
‘After you told her about the process, how did she react?’ asked Seb.
‘Like many victims, she was somewhat daunted, but seemed determined. I said I could come with her to report it, as her lawyer. She said she would think it over. That’s where we left it. I never heard from her again.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Barb.
He creased his forehead and studied the desk. ‘She asked what it meant in terms of her chances of having the person convicted if they had both been drinking alcohol. I told her that if she was cross-examined, she would be asked about her alcohol intake, and it might be suggested it had affected the accuracy and reliability of her memory. I told her that if the perpetrator was convicted, being drunk would not be seen as a mitigating factor.’
‘You’re sure she was asking about both parties?’ said Barb. ‘Her and her attacker?’
He considered this. ‘Yes.’
‘Which suggests they had both been drinking when it happened.’
‘That is the logical conclusion.’
‘Thanks, Viv,’ said Seb. ‘Anything else you remember?’
‘At the end, I did try to ask her if she was thinking of re-establishing contact with us – the band members. It was a bit awkward, but she said she would soon. And …’ He paused, as if deciding whether to proceed. ‘Well, there was one more thing. I’m not great with the warm and fuzzies. You may have noticed. When I started work, my boss picked up on that and advised me to make my office look “lived in”. Almost like a home, he said. So I put a photo of From Afar up on a shelf next to the desk. After Sal came in, I went to get us coffee. Another tip from my boss. It wasn’t until after she left my office that I noticed the photo had been moved.’
‘How?’
‘I had placed the photo on the shelf facing the desk, so those sitting on either side of the desk could see it. But after Sal left, I realised it had been turned diagonally so it faced my side of the desk only.’
‘You think she did that while you were out of the room?’
‘I’m quite particular. I like things to be in their right place. If it had been moved before Sal came in, I would have noticed.’
There was a silence.
‘Who was in the photo?’ asked Barb.
‘Me, Seb, Sal, Joe, Leanne, Gary and Dev.’
‘Do you think she may have moved the frame so that while you two talked, she wouldn’t be able to see it?’ asked Barb.
‘That seems the most likely scenario. Perhaps she didn’t like how she looked in it.’
CHAPTER 39
Barb was frowning as they walked down Blackwall Road toward Seb’s car. Outside a hairdresser’s she stopped and grabbed his arm. ‘Sal told Viv she’d been drinking when she was assaulted, but Monica said Sal didn’t drink in the Blue Mountains. Do you see?’
Seb stared at her. ‘If that’s true, it means she was assaulted in Sydney.’
‘Exactly. She moved to the Blue Mountains and gave up alcohol, perhaps because she associated alcohol with the assault. She went on anti-depressants after she got to Leura. In Sydney she was under a lot of pressure and stressed, but coping. If she was assaulted on top of that, it might have triggered her depression.’
They walked to the car, got in. Seb had driven to the outskirts of Woy Woy before Barb spoke.
‘Why did she move that photo in Viv’s office?’
‘Maybe she picked it up to have a closer look, then accidentally put it down in a different position. Or maybe it was distracting seeing all her friends, who she hadn’t seen for months.’
