Liars, page 33
The captain pulled a lever and the boat’s speed increased. ‘Sick of holding her back all the time. It can go twenty knots.’
Seb had no idea what that meant. ‘I reckon the boat we’re chasing is probably heading out the heads.’
‘What is it?’
Again, Seb had no idea. He had been on it a few times, but knew nothing about boats. He didn’t even know words that described boats. ‘It … umm … it hasn’t got sails.’
‘How many feet?’
‘Feet? No idea. Why feet?’
‘You measure boats in feet. How many metres, then multiply by three.’
‘Maybe ten? Twelve?’
‘That’s tiny. Is it a dinghy?’
‘Sorry. That’s metres.’
‘Okay. We should be able to gain on it pretty decently.’
Now they were coming alongside Box Head, the southern tip of the Central Coast. Ahead of them, boats puttered around the Hawkesbury, many heading in or out of Pittwater on the southern – Sydney – side. As they passed Box Head on their left, more ocean was revealed, and Seb saw Gary’s boat heading out to sea.
CHAPTER 75
Gary glanced around. They were all alone, a few hundred metres offshore. He locked the steering wheel and made his way to the back of the boat where there was no rail, and stared out to sea.
He pointed. ‘Look, Leanne. Dolphins!’
The morning after his and Sal’s misunderstanding, he had been anxious. Would she tell anyone? Luckily, his nose showed no visible marks, so there were no awkward questions to answer. Then he discovered she had vanished. Maybe she needed to think things through. Maybe she would realise she had made a terrible mistake in rejecting him, and come back.
Over the next few weeks, his anxiety subsided. It seemed like none of the band knew, or if they did, they were keeping quiet about it. Instead, he felt angry. He had given her his love, made himself vulnerable, and she had thrown it back in his face. That was an awful thing to do to someone.
He threw himself into stand-up, and the combination of his stage presence and great material from obscure comics worldwide that he discovered on YouTube and Spotify, and then pinched and repurposed, started to get him noticed. After a few months, a television producer asked him to audition to host a comedy panel show, and he got it. He knew it would be the perfect vehicle. He had the presence and the show had four writers whose job it was to make him funny.
The day after he was announced as host, he did some auditioning himself, of agents, as there was a complex contract to go through. That evening, at home, his phone rang. Sal. He stared at the screen, took a deep breath.
‘Hi, Sal. Great to hear from you.’
‘I can’t let you do this. Not after what you did to me. I should have done something about it then, but at least I can stop you getting into a position where you’ll have the power to do it again.’
Her words came in a cold, angry rush, sounding rehearsed. He suspected what lay beneath them was jealousy. He had got the big break, not her. He understood. In her own quiet way, she was as ambitious as he. It was one of the things he liked about her.
‘Sal, can we meet and talk about this?’ he asked.
‘No. I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I could go to the police.’
He felt a bolt of pure fear.
‘Pull out of the show,’ she continued.
‘Sal, this is it. My big break. What I’ve worked for. It might not come again.’
‘Pull out or I’m going to the police. My shirt from that night has your blood on it. Evidence.’
‘That’s just evidence that at some point I had a blood nose near your shirt. We both know why my nose was bleeding. But, please, can we meet and talk about it?’
‘No. Pull out of the show or I go to the police.’
‘I need … can I have some time? It’s just a shock.’
‘Two days.’ She hung up.
When he could think straight, he assessed the danger. If she went to the police he could be charged with … what? Assault? Indecent assault? His word against hers. What did the blood prove? Nothing really. More that she had assaulted him than he her, but it would be consistent with the story she told police, and if they questioned him, he would have to think of another way of explaining it.
Whether or not he would be convicted wasn’t the point, though. One tweet from Sal and it was over for him. No comedy club would book him for months, even years. He would be dumped from the TV show quicker than you could say ‘MeToo’.
Should he pull out? ‘Not the right opportunity at this time. Want to hone my comedic craft.’ If you were lucky, you got one chance. He had just got his, and if he took it and made it work, he would get bigger audiences, more applause and more opportunities. He’d have a decent shot at clawing his way onto that narrow ledge of well-known television comedians, and if he fought hard, maybe be able to stay there. Even if he didn’t, the television exposure would give him corporate opportunities that would pay his pool-cleaning bills for years.
If he pulled out of the show, even if he did get another opportunity, what then? Sal would still have power over him. She could demand that he pull out of the next opportunity he got (if he got one), and the one after that, again and again, forever. How could he ever rest easy? The only way was if he knew that not only was she not going to go public, or go to the police, now, she was not going to do it ever.
There was a way. Distasteful, but looking at it pragmatically, if the only other alternative was to sit in limbo, permanently at her mercy, it was the least worst alternative. He had to kill her. He wished there was another way, because he loved her, but there wasn’t.
The problem was that the police would look for motive. He didn’t know if Sal had told anyone about what happened that night, but if she had, and she was killed, it would come out, and he would be the prime suspect. Then the idea came. There was a way of killing Sal that would cause the police to not even look for those with a motive to kill her. It was a bloody clever idea. Might even be a mini-series in it. He might wait a few years before he pitched it, though.
Now, Leanne looked up at him. ‘Dolphins? Really?’
‘Yeah. A whole pod. Come see.’
She stood, still clutching her glass of wine, and made her way toward the back of the boat. ‘Where?’
Gary stepped right to the edge and pointed. ‘Come,’ he said, beckoning her closer and offering his hand. ‘There’s heaps of them.’
CHAPTER 76
As they rounded the heads and headed out to sea, Seb kept his eye on Gary’s boat. Maybe it was four hundred metres ahead, or maybe half or double that. He had no idea. How were you supposed to tell with no points of reference?
‘How long till we catch it?’
The captain narrowed his eyes. ‘Five or six minutes, I’d say. Depends a bit though.’
‘What on?’
‘On whether we stop to pick up whoever just went overboard.’
*
He hadn’t offered a life jacket and she hadn’t asked. When she reached his side at the back of the boat, it was easy to shove her. A second later she was in the water, spluttering, and he was back at the wheel, chugging away from her. Idiotically, she started swimming after the boat, as if she could catch it. She didn’t look like a good swimmer, and she’d had two glasses of wine. He could just keep circling her until she disappeared. Maybe he could tease her, get close enough so she exhausted herself chasing the boat.
It was unfair to Leanne, really. Without her, he would never have found Sal.
After he had decided what he had to do, he had googled and scoured social media, hoping to find a mention of Sal’s home or workplace, but no luck. He’d put out word to their friends. Guys, I’m really worried about Sal. It’s over 5 months now. Anyone heard from her? No luck.
Who were most likely to have been in touch with her? Seb and Joe. He had a drink with Seb, who was all moany and worried. If he had been in contact, he wouldn’t have been able to hide it.
He knocked on Joe’s door. Leanne was there too. They both looked like shit, and were obviously on something. Both said they hadn’t heard from her.
But an hour later Leanne called.
‘Didn’t want to say in front of Joe, but I saw her a couple of weeks ago.’
Bingo!
He acted the concerned friend. ‘How’s she doing? etcetera’ before getting to, ‘Where is she?’
‘She made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘Right. Understood. You know it’s her birthday in a couple of weeks?’
‘Oddly, I don’t keep track of Sal’s birthday.’
‘Again, understood. But I wanted to send her a present. Maybe from all of us. Just so she knows we’re thinking of her.’
‘Thing is, Gary, me and Joe aren’t doing too well money wise.’
The penny dropped.
‘That’s such a shame, Leanne. Tough times in the big city. I’m doing okay at the moment.’ Understatement. He was getting plenty from comedy gigs, plus parental support, and the TV job would pay a bomb. ‘Horrible to see a close friend having financial difficulties. I’m sure it’s only short term. Things will turn around, but perhaps in the meantime I could help you out. A small loan, maybe?’
She lapped it up. A bit of to and fro and they agreed on three hundred dollars. In return she let slip Sal’s address.
He figured out a plan, and then rang Meals on Wheels in Katoomba, found out what time they delivered, drove up and followed the van for its first four deliveries. He wanted it to be someone elderly so he was only taking a few years from them. He looked in the letterboxes, got the names of two residents, googled the first and found her husband’s obituary eighteen months before. He was willing to take a punt that eighty-six-year-old Dorothy Ingham hadn’t hooked up with anyone since.
He waited for hours, both bored and nervous, until 11 p.m. Getting in wasn’t hard. He had brought a screwdriver and crowbar, but the house was old and run-down, and he found a window he could open. He found Dorothy in her bedroom, asleep. It wasn’t hard.
He didn’t enjoy it. It was just what had to be done.
Sal had given him two days, but he would need a bit more time. He didn’t want to text or leave a message, so the next day he called.
‘Your request is entirely reasonable and I’m so sorry for what happened. I’ll pull out of the show.’
‘Good,’ she said, her voice softening a touch.
‘It’s a delicate situation with the producers, though. Can you give me a week to work out how to exit? I’ve signed a contract.’
A long pause, then, ‘Okay.’
‘Thanks.’
He needed a bit of an age difference for the second victim, so Sal wasn’t an outlier. He sourced the local news and found a story about a middle-aged woman with terminal cancer. Sounded horrible. Surely, he’d be doing her a favour.
A bit of googling and he had her address. She lived alone, but had carers popping in and out so, after dark, he parked in her empty street, waited until a friend left, then knocked on the door and told her he was a counsellor from the hospital. As she made him a cup of tea he put on his gloves and came up behind her.
The headline next day was exactly what he was hoping for: ‘Strangler Haunts Blue Mountains.’
Thanks to Leanne, he had Sal’s address, but how was he going to get in? Night was best to minimise the risk of being seen, but the police were now trumpeting warnings to stay safe, lock doors and windows, and not open the door to anyone you don’t know. He was a victim of his own success!
He might be able to break in, but what if he couldn’t, or it was noisy? He thought and thought, and then called Leanne.
‘I’m experimenting with some new comedy, but I need a woman’s voice that I can record and play. I just think you’d be perfect.’
They agreed on two hundred dollars, she came over, he made up some bullshit and recorded her saying, ‘It’s Leanne. Can I come in?’, ‘Please. It’s an emergency’ and ‘Just let me in’.
Next was another stakeout, a long evening in Leura. Eventually Sal came home. Gary had wondered how he would feel when he saw her. Turns out, not much. As she walked down the street toward her house, it was more ‘problem to be solved’ than ‘love of my life’. Perhaps it would be different when he got close.
Again, thanks to Leanne, he knew Sal had a housemate, and an hour later a young woman left wearing what looked like waitressing gear. Soon after, it was dark.
He was nervous as he walked to her front door and knocked. He heard footsteps inside.
‘Who is it?’ Sal’s voice.
From his phone, he played the first sound file. ‘It’s Leanne. Can I come in?’
‘Leanne?’
Sound file two. ‘Please. It’s an emergency.’
He didn’t need the third. As the door swung open he brought up the replica pistol he had bought online, twelve dollars extra for next-day delivery. If needed, his cover story was that he was using it in a routine about gun control. He’d even done one onstage. Didn’t get many laughs, but now it was tax deductible.
She looked beautiful, but he tried not to think about that. She wore white overalls over a T-shirt and bangles. Why would you wear bangles at home?
‘Shit!’ she managed.
‘Turn around and walk into the lounge room.’
‘Gary, come on …’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ he said, shutting the door behind him. His fury surprised him. He ordered her to sit on the couch, and lowered his knee onto it. ‘Don’t move, or I shoot.’
He thought he might want to talk to her, but he just wanted to get it done and move on with life. Still pointing the gun, he put one hand on her neck and squeezed hard so she couldn’t scream. Then he dropped the gun and used both hands.
A phone pinged.
She gurgled, flailed her arms and then grabbed his wrist, turned her head and bit. It hurt, but he kept squeezing. She flung her hands at his face. He raised his head to avoid her, but her nails ripped along his neck. He kept squeezing until her movements slowed and then stopped.
He felt sad it had come to this, but also relieved. She had tried to rob him of everything he had worked for.
Who was that text from? Nothing on his phone. He checked hers. Seb.
Be there about 10 on Sunday. So looking forward to seeing you
He felt his fury rise, but squashed it down. He needed to be cold, rational and swift. He retrieved the replica, shoved it into his belt, found Sal’s room and looked for her shirt. He found it in a plastic bag in her bedside table drawer. Loose end tidied!
He opened a kitchen window, because why would she have opened her front door to a stranger with ‘the Strangler’ on the loose?
Back in the now ironically named living room, he picked up her hand and used her fingerprint to open her laptop. He searched his name. Old emails of course, but nothing since their misunderstanding. Good.
Phone next. He tried face ID, but apparently it doesn’t work when you’re dead. Good attention to detail, Apple. She wasn’t one for elaborate passcodes, and he got it open with six threes. There were no recent texts between them, and just two calls. Easy to explain. She rang him to reconnect, then he had rung her back to talk more.
A journal lay next to her on the sofa. Even if she had written about what had happened that night in Sydney, he could deny it, but better if he didn’t have to. He took it. It was the sort of thing a psycho killer would do and, to be honest, he’d be interested in reading it.
He had one final, long look at her. So beautiful. He didn’t love her the same way anymore, but he didn’t hate her. He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. She had resisted the first time they had kissed. She didn’t resist this time, which was nice, but on the other hand it was because she was dead. You can’t have everything. Then he walked out the door into the life he deserved.
Over the next few days, the news went crazy about the Strangler. He felt kind of proud. Inventing a killer had been a performance every bit as satisfying as smashing a stand-up gig.
The only loose end was Leanne. She knew that he knew Sal’s address. Luckily, she was pretty much a junkie, and as long as that continued, his money would be an effective lever.
A week after Sal died, he waited in her street until he saw Joe go out, and knocked on her door.
‘How are you coping with Sal’s death?’ he asked, trying to look bereaved.
‘It’s sad, obviously …’ She shrugged.
‘If the police ask about her address … I’ve got this TV show starting, and so I’m now officially’ – he made air quotes as he rolled his eyes – ‘“someone”, and there’s so much media about this Strangler as it is, if they find out she’s my friend it’ll become a circus. “Strangler’s Third Victim Was TV Star’s Best Friend.” You know the type of thing. No one needs that. I wonder, if the police talk to you, maybe …’
‘I could leave out the bit about giving you her address? Sure. Three hundred?’
He was sure Leanne didn’t suspect him. She was just adept at sniffing out money-making opportunities.
Well, she wouldn’t be doing any more of that, thought Gary as his boat chugged away from her, heading out to sea. He glanced over his shoulder. Not long now, by the looks of her feeble attempts at staying afloat.
Hang on. Why the fuck was there a ferry heading toward her?
*
The captain pulled the ferry alongside Leanne, as Seb got down on his knees and extended a hand. She grabbed it, and he and the mate hauled her on board, and half carried her inside to a wooden bench.
