Liars, page 7
‘You’re probably sick of flowers.’
‘No, no,’ she said automatically, then, ‘a bit.’
‘I could chuck them out the window if you like. All of them.’
Claire laughed. He relaxed a little.
‘What should I bring next time?’ he asked.
‘Food,’ she said immediately. ‘Everything they give me’s very functional. Major food groups, protein, all that rubbish. Not bad, but when you sit about all day, a treat’s nice.’
‘Can’t eat flowers. Chocolate?’
‘Lollies. I’m like an eight-year-old with lollies. Sit,’ she commanded, indicating a straight-backed chair next to the bed.
He obeyed. ‘How is it all going?’
‘Lots of rehab. They tell me to do something and then, when I can’t, they’re all soothing and encouraging. “Well done, great effort.” Makes me want to kick them. Which I can’t, obviously, because …’ She waved at her legs. ‘Although, if I ever do, they’ll say, “Well done, great effort.”’
At the mention of her legs, Seb suppressed a wince. Mercifully, the blanket covered them, so he couldn’t see the damage. In a just world, the driver in an accident would have the worst injuries, but he had escaped with only minor cuts to his face and a few bruises, and been released from hospital the next day. He had given his account to Gosford police, and been congratulated for steering the car off the road, a course of action they said had probably saved both their lives. He knew the doctors had told Claire she would walk, and even run, again, but it would take months of hard work.
‘Maybe they’re pushing you too hard,’ he said.
‘That’s how it works. The more work you do, the quicker you get better, go home, run marathons and give an inspiring TED Talk.’
He asked her more about rehab, what the doctors had told her, and hospital life. As she answered, he both listened and assessed. She seemed cheery enough – considering – and open. Last visit, she had thanked him more than once for saving her, which had made him feel even worse, and her attitude to him today seemed unchanged.
At first he had visited out of obligation – it was the decent thing to do – as well as an anxious need to monitor her memory. He still needed to come for both those reasons, but now there was a third. He liked her. His attraction on the night they met hadn’t just been the beer talking. He wondered if it had just been the gin and tonics for her.
He had first visited six days after the accident. Claire had little memory of what had happened that night, but had been told that she was in the passenger seat of his car when he swerved off the road to avoid a truck coming toward them on the wrong side of the road.
Understandably, she’d wanted to know what she was doing in his car at five in the morning.
‘I was driving you home,’ Seb had said.
‘From?’
‘From your parents’ house.’
Her face creased in puzzlement. ‘But they’re in Queensland.’
‘I think that was the point.’
‘Huh?’
‘Do you remember being at the club? Bullford Point Bowlo? There was a group of us. You came with Dev?’
Claire had frowned. ‘Some vague images, but nothing specific. Like after being super drunk. Wait. Was I super drunk?’
‘No. We went to your parents’ place because it was somewhere private. You said you had flatmates.’
She’d stared at him in confusion, then realisation dawned. ‘Oh. We …?’
He’d nodded.
‘Shit,’ she’d said. ‘All the way? Sorry, we’re not in high school. We had sex?’
‘We did, yes. I swear you weren’t drunk.’
‘I decided to have sex with you when I was sober?’ She’d stared at him, blank-faced, then smiled. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t resist.’
‘Right. Good one.’
‘Why didn’t we go to your place? Are you homeless? Are cops allowed to be homeless?’
‘I have a home. In Bullford Point.’ He wanted to live alone and didn’t earn a huge amount, so he rented a shabby fibro that, after rain, smelled of damp. That day it had been raining, plus his bedroom had been untidy. He’d known Roger, his poodle shih tzu something something mix would be fine alone until morning.
‘You suggested your parents’ place and it sounded … exciting, I guess. Then … afterwards you said you had to get home, so we drove back at five a.m., and that’s when it happened.’
‘Were you single?’
‘Yep.’
‘I … um, wasn’t. I’m … not.’
‘I know. You told me. That’s why you wanted to get back.’
‘Right. I must have been worried about my gossipy flatmates. I guess I could have told them I’d stayed at Dev’s, but they know Dev, so … There had been some problems with Craig. The boyfriend. Although he’s being very nice to me now. Would he know about you? He hasn’t said anything.’
‘I told the police what happened and they might have told him. Even if they didn’t … five a.m. You and me in the car. Is he a man of some intelligence?’
‘He’s a real estate agent, so draw your own conclusions.’ Her face fell. ‘That was mean. You shouldn’t have told me we had sex, then I could have denied it without lying. Anyway, apparently you saved my life. Both our lives. Thank you.’
His guts had churned as he’d plastered on a modest smile.
On his second visit they had got beyond the accident and talked for an hour about all sorts of things – movies and music, living in Sydney versus the Central Coast, plans for the future. Claire had grown up in Sydney, got her first job as a high school English teacher at Kincumber High, been there four years and wanted to stay. He hadn’t enquired further about the boyfriend, although he wanted to. After he left, he kept thinking about her.
Now, on his third visit, he was finding that the alcohol-enhanced attraction he had felt the night they met was not, as it usually did, diminishing into something awkward and embarrassing that he wanted to run away from. For the first time in a long time he had met someone he really liked, which made the lie at the heart of it even worse.
‘I think I’ve started to remember fragments of being at my parents’ with you that night,’ she said. ‘Were you wearing a denim jacket?’
A shiver of fear pricked his neck. ‘Yeah.’
‘I must have liked you to get past a denim jacket.’
‘I try not to use fashion as a leg up. I want to be liked for me.’
‘Did we … have a shower?’
‘Ah, yeah.’ He felt acutely embarrassed.
‘There you go. At the club, you were drinking beer?’
‘Yep.’
She shot him an accusatory look. ‘Did you drink much? Were you drink-driving?’
‘No, no. A couple, that’s all.’ More like four, but they had been there three hours so he was probably under, and he definitely was on the way back. ‘We didn’t drink at your parents’.’
Her brow creased. ‘That’s all I’ve got so far, but the doctor said more might come back. Hopefully.’
When you approach danger, look like you’re in control. Don’t have to be calm. Just have to look calm.
‘Yep,’ he said, smiling, heart pounding. ‘Hopefully.’
CHAPTER 9
Barb sat on her back deck, topped up her glass and looked out over the bay. She never got sick of that view. The bottle was more empty than full, which was unlike her. Or at least, it was before Dennis left.
She thought about Joe. A little boy, a teenager, an adult, now a corpse. She missed him. Constantly pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes, his attempts not to swear in front of her, his enthusiasm and plans, his hopes of a fresh start. All gone.
Bullford Point had experienced a decade’s worth of drama in a month, although admittedly, it had come off a low base. The last dose of excitement had been that business with the bush turkey managing to get onto the ferry a couple of years ago. That had caused quite the stir, but didn’t begin to compare to the last few weeks: Karen Kemp’s disappearance, the discovery of her body, a murder investigation, Joe’s overdose. Now, it seemed, it was all over, tied up in a neat little bow. Joe had killed Karen, then overdosed. Nothing more to see here.
She took another sip of chardy, following the progress of a pelican gliding across the bay.
She sat still for some time, her brow slowly furrowing.
What about Joe’s teeth? Technically a mouthguard to prevent grinding while asleep, but she had always called hers ‘teeth’. Before Dennis left, she had always found it tricky to work out when to put them in. After lights out, of course, but they often chatted, and if she talked with her teeth in, she sounded drunk. Sometimes she would think the conversation was over and insert them, only for Dennis to add another carefully considered point. It could be hard to tell the difference between one of his lengthy conversational pauses, and him going to sleep, especially in the dark, so sometimes the teeth went in and out several times.
When you worked with someone doing tasks that didn’t require much brainpower, you ended up chatting about all sorts of things, and one day as they oiled a deck, she and Joe had discussed bedroom routines.
‘I clean my teeth,’ he said (meaning his real teeth), ‘then last thing get my mouthguard from the bathroom, put it in, then lights off.’
He kept his mouthguard in the bathroom, and didn’t get it until he was about to go to sleep. Why then, had it been on his bedside table? Surely, in the moments before he relapsed and took heroin again, after all those months and all that effort, he must have been in turmoil. Anxious, excited, a dozen other emotions. Would he really have thought, ‘Oh, and I better get my mouthguard from its case in the bathroom and put it on my bedside table, just in case I don’t feel like getting up and getting it later.’?
She heard a ping and checked her phone. Nothing. She went inside to the bag she had left on the kitchen table, rummaged for Joe’s phone, and saw a text.
ANDY: Got it, prick? In the area soon
Andy, whoever he was, obviously didn’t know Joe was dead. What was the ‘it’ he wanted? A spade Joe had borrowed? A toaster? Money? Barb thought of the envelope containing the three thousand dollars she had found in Joe’s sock drawer.
Who was Andy? The only one Barb knew was Andrew Davidson, the retired headmaster of the primary school, who was as likely to use the word ‘prick’ as he was to miss a day’s kayaking.
She could forget all this. It was none of her business.
But that was the trouble. There really wasn’t much that was her business anymore. Husband gone, daughter in Melbourne. She wasn’t one to get down on her work, but you could only get so much satisfaction from repairing windows and pruning trees. Yes, it was good for her physically. Mentally and emotionally, not so much.
Why had Joe put his teeth on his bedside table before injecting drugs?
She picked up Joe’s phone. If she wanted to find out more, she might as well start.
CHAPTER 10
On Seb’s way out of Claire’s ward, a wiry man with a thin, lined face and a straggly beard, wearing T-shirt and jeans, was arguing with the nurse.
‘I’m not family, technically. Like, not blood family, but I’m her boyfriend so, yeah, I’m family.’
The nurse asked for his name, then looked at a list. ‘I’m sorry. Because she’s in a serious condition, there’s limited visiting. Family only.’
‘Like I said, I’m family. I’ve got to see her.’ He leaned in, eyes sharpening.
Seb slowed down.
‘I’m sorry, but if you’re not on the list …’ the nurse began cautiously.
‘That’s fucked! I gotta see her!’ The man grabbed the counter with both hands, leaning over as far over as he could. ‘Need to fucking see her!’
Seb stepped up to the desk. ‘Hi, I’m visiting Claire Ellis.’
The nurse looked like she’d just got a present. ‘Let me look her up.’
As she tapped the computer, Seb turned to the man, who side-eyed his uniform then stared resolutely ahead, in the same way drivers avoided making eye contact with him at traffic lights when he was on patrol.
‘Hi,’ said Seb with a big smile. ‘Couldn’t help overhearing that you’re not on that list you need to be on to visit the person you want to visit.’
‘Been a mix-up,’ the man mumbled sullenly, still looking ahead.
‘Reckon this nurse might be too busy to fix it right now.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘You’re pretty busy, right?’
‘I am, yeah.’
‘There you go. So not much point hanging about, is there?’
The man stared at Seb, furious, then at the nurse, then turned and stormed off toward the lift.
‘Thanks,’ said the nurse. ‘You can tell the ones that are going to be trouble.’
As he drove home, he realised she was right. You can tell the ones that are going to be trouble. Seb knew as soon as he pulled someone over if they were going to be apologetic and compliant, or get aggro. Just like the nurse, he had learned to sense anger and resentment, and to know when it might bubble over into aggression. They had both known, almost instantly, that the guy in the hospital was going to be trouble.
He pulled over to the side of the road. There was no way Joe killed Karen. Joe could be a prick, but he wasn’t that sort of prick. He could be cunning, calculating and manipulative, but unlike the guy in the hospital, Joe had impulse control. Joe had got himself into a world of trouble over the years, but Seb had never heard a whisper of violence about him, even from Sal and Leanne, both of whom Joe had been in relationships with.
Homicide had him tagged as a hothead who had flown off the handle and lashed out, but that wasn’t Joe. He’d never had a hair-trigger temper. He assessed, he worked out what would most benefit him, and acted accordingly. Seb had seen Joe several times since his return to Bullford Point, and notwithstanding his years of hard living, there were no signs that his temperament had changed.
Why would Joe, just when he was getting his life back together, throw it all away by lashing out at a woman he had just met? Yes, domestic violence could rise up suddenly; Seb had interviewed victims and perpetrators who had said the cause was someone forgetting to buy milk or not doing the washing-up, but the specific incident had always been just the spark that had ignited the tinder of years of built-up resentment. Joe had only known Karen weeks, wasn’t living with her, and had only seen her half a dozen times. There was no tinder to ignite.
Seb could very easily imagine Joe plotting a crime that would advantage him. In fact, he knew Joe had done that. Many times. But not this. It was too senseless, too self-defeating.
He was sure Homicide had got it wrong. Joe hadn’t killed Karen.
CHAPTER 11
These days, Barb supposed breaking into someone’s phone was more intrusive than going through their bedroom drawers, but something felt off about Joe’s death, and a trawl though his phone was the best way to find out what had been going on in his life before he died.
First she had to get past the lock screen. How many guesses did she get? She had seen him open his phone many times, unusually with his face, but one morning they had been removing mould from Judith Delgety’s basement with bleach. Facemasks were required, and he had punched in his code. She was pretty sure he had banged the same number six times. Ten options then. And if he was lax enough to use the same number, he would probably go for a corner.
She started with 1. Fail. 3 and 7 the same, but six 9’s did the trick. She opened Andy’s text message.
Got it, prick? In the area soon
Barb scrolled up to their earlier messages.
ANDY: Need that money, prick
JOE: Will have the money in a couple of days
ANDY: Heard that before
JOE: Will text when I have it
Charming. Joe had never spoken like that around her. She supposed everyone adjusted their speech in different company, but it did make her wonder. There was clearly a side to him she had not seen.
She typed Got it and pressed send. Soon there was another ping.
ANDY: About time, cunt. Tomoz?
Barb’s eyebrows rose.
Yes. 2 p.m. suits. And mind your language.
Soon, another ping.
ANDY: You’re one to talk
She took a chance.
Remind me how much?
ANDY: 3200
The envelope she had found in Joe’s room held three thousand dollars. She typed See you tomorrow, hesitated, then added: fuckface.
When in Rome.
CHAPTER 12
Seb huddled over his crowded desk, typing up a morning’s haul of speeding tickets plus, for excitement’s sake, a failure to indicate. He should have added a loading for being dumb enough to do it with a police car right behind him.
Bullford Point was a small station – technically two person, but he had been the only occupant for nearly a year – and whenever he bothered to check his emails he half expected to discover it was being closed. NSW Police were gradually ‘rationalising’, or some word like that. He wouldn’t lose his job, but he would be shunted off somewhere, probably Gosford, and wasn’t looking forward to it. Working on his own could be lonely, but the alternative was being in a big station surrounded by dozens of people, most of superior rank. Currently, he was supervised only when he asked to be. Help was just a phone call away, but it was up to him whether he called, and he rarely did. If loneliness was the price of autonomy, he was happy to pay it.
‘Good morning, then.’
Seb looked up to see the top half of Barb, in a collared white shirt, smiling over his counter. ‘Hi, Barb.’
‘Busy?’
‘There are things to do, yes, but fire away.’
She looked around. ‘Is there somewhere private we could chat?’
