A Stone's Throw Away, page 11
His eyes closed, and Pip waited. He opened them and closed them a second time, and she slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. No. And just like that, her gut instinct kicked in. She believed him. There was nothing more than a feeling, but it was certain and she had learned long ago she to trust it.
‘Bert, do you believe Molly’s death was connected to Vernon Clements’ murder?’
He closed his eyes slowly.
‘Did you put Molly’s body in the dam?’
Two slow blinks.
‘Anne has some of your belongings in storage—photos and letters,’ she said gently. ‘Would it be all right if she lent them to me to have a look through?’
His eyes closed once.
‘It’s going to be all right, Bert. We’ll work out what happened to Molly.’
His gaze didn’t seem as agitated as before—maybe he still couldn’t say everything he wanted to say, but at least he had a way to participate in a conversation. He seemed weary all of a sudden, and Pip imagined it must have taken a tremendous amount of concentration and effort. ‘It’s okay, Bert. You rest now.’
She waited until he closed his eyes before leaving, feeling strangely guilty, as though she were abandoning him.
As she neared the foyer, she stopped. She wasn’t sure how much help she could really be to this investigation, but what she could do was stand up and speak for Bert and his rights.
‘Hello,’ her helpful admin woman said as she looked up and recognised Pip.
‘I need to speak to someone about Mr Bigsby.’
‘Oh … um, well, who do you want to speak with?’
‘Does he have a doctor?’
‘Our doctors aren’t here until rounds later on this afternoon.’
‘Then the nursing-home director,’ she said, and the woman hesitantly reached for the phone on her desk.
Pip drummed her fingers on the desk as she waited, listening to the timid voice on her end saying ‘Yes’, ‘I understand’ and ‘Sorry’ several times before she replaced the phone and looked up at Pip anxiously. ‘Mr Newman will be out shortly,’ she said, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.
Just then, a man wearing a grey suit opened a door behind the front desk area and came through, looking somewhat distracted as he smoothed his tie before coming to a stop before her. ‘Andrew Newman,’ he introduced himself briskly, not hiding how inconvenient he considered this interruption.
‘I’ve just been in visiting Mr Bigsby,’ Pip started as the man looked at her expectantly. ‘I’m concerned about the lack of respect I just witnessed from two of your staff towards him.’
‘Excuse me?’ the director said, then tilted his head and frowned. ‘I’m sorry, are you a family member?’
‘I’m a family friend,’ she continued, figuring the small stretch was acceptable under these conditions.
‘My staff always treat every resident they attend with the utmost respect.’
Pip’s eyes narrowed and she saw the man straighten a little. ‘I’d appreciate it if you had a word to your staff about how they address their patients. I’d hate to find there was some kind of prejudice being demonstrated in this facility. If Mr Bigsby’s solicitor were to become involved in the matter, it wouldn’t garner very favourable publicity.’
The director puffed out his chest and glared at her. ‘I have no idea what you’re suggesting.’
‘I walked into that room and there were two nurses’ aides sitting about doing nothing but talking about their weekend, completely ignoring the patient. If you’ve got people here trained to provide health care to vulnerable patients and are not, simply because of who this patient is, then that’s a serious concern.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Bigsby is treated no different to any other patient here.’
‘Really? These women addressed him by a very derogative name.’
‘If that’s true then I will look into it.’
‘I’d appreciate it. Oh, and you will be seeing me around here more often,’ she added, pushing away from the front desk. ‘I’m a journalist with the Daily Metro and I’ll be doing a story on Mr Bigsby,’ she said, walking away.
As she walked she felt her steps falter a little. What the hell had she just gone and done? She hadn’t even decided she was going to write Bert’s story until it just slipped out then. But she knew that her fate had been sealed when she heard those women call Bert the Butcher. Her anger only grew the more she thought about how isolated and lonely Bert must feel—trapped inside a body that no longer moved, unable to speak or defend himself, instead forced to lie there and listen to those women laugh and gossip, ignoring their duty of care.
Was it neglect simply because of Bert’s reputation? Pip certainly had heard enough around town to recognise genuine unrest about the situation. The disappearance of Molly Bigsby and murder of Vernon Clements may have happened seventy years ago, but it still had the power to incite an uproar. There was clearly a reason Bert had become a recluse—his personal safety.
Whether or not he was guilty, Pip could not abide someone being treated like a neglected animal. She had to get involved.
If she found out Bert had killed his wife as well as Clements then he would be acknowledged as guilty and everyone could go about their business. But if he wasn’t responsible for these crimes, it would mean the entire town had made the life of an innocent man pure hell for the past seventy years.
She hesitated as she reached the front door, thinking of Bert. What if today’s incident was only the tip of the iceberg? What if Bert was subjected to even worse kinds of neglect or even abuse in here? He was unable to communicate and rarely had visitors, so how would he ask for help? Shaking her head, she turned around and retraced her steps to Bert’s room. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it if she didn’t find out.
She sat down on a hard plastic chair by the side of the bed and waited. Bert’s eyes opened shortly after and Pip managed a small smile.
‘Bert, do the staff treat you okay here?’ she asked quietly and waited as he blinked slowly in acknowledgement. ‘It’s okay to tell me if they aren’t. I can help you.’
Bert only stared at her, and she realised she needed to make things a yes or no answer. ‘Do you need me to step in and do something about the staff here?’
Slowly he gave two blinks.
‘I heard the way they addressed you and I suspect they don’t often show a great deal of respect when they’re caring for you. You don’t have to put up with that. I can follow this up if you want me to?’
The watery, pale eyes seemed to momentarily stare through her, as though he’d drifted off, before he refocused on her and blinked twice.
Pip paused for a moment before nodding. ‘Okay. Go back to sleep,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’
Pip hadn’t seen any signs of neglect or mistreatment, though she got the impression he was simply resigned to living with the disrespect because it simply wasn’t worth the hassle of complaining. This annoyed her even more because the people who treated him badly would get away with it. She knew that this really wasn’t any of her business—she wasn’t family—but who else did Bert have? He was defenceless, unable to move or communicate, and spent his days knowing that pretty much everyone around here hated him. What a terrible way for anyone to live out their last years.
A movement at the doorway made her look over.
‘We meet again,’ Erik said, his legs braced apart, his arms folded in typical cop fashion. She searched his face for any lingering animosity left over from their last exchange but was relieved to find nothing except a tiny glint of amusement.
‘Are you here to speak with Bert about Molly?’ she asked. ‘He’s just gone to sleep.’
‘Actually, I’m here to speak with you.’
Pip lifted one eyebrow in surprise.
‘Andrew Newman called to report an incident.’
‘Did he now?’ Pip said, settling back in her chair and crossing her legs.
‘He’s asked that you be escorted from the premises.’
‘He’s what?’ she demanded, getting to her feet. That little weasel.
‘You can’t come in here throwing around threats about patient care and think they’ll just let it slide.’
‘I simply brought up the fact that his staff were being disrespectful to a resident.’
‘I’m not here to get involved with all that—I’m just here to ask you to leave peacefully.’
‘Are you serious? You’re really kicking me out?’
‘Look, for the sake of keeping the peace, I’m simply asking you to wrap up today’s visit. Now.’ When she continued to glare at him, he gave a small sigh. ‘Let’s not make this a thing.’
She watched him for a moment. She had to admit, the big policeman had spiked her interest, and there was no denying she found him attractive, but their last few encounters had left her feeling a little irritated. And what was going down right now was only adding to it. Sure, he might only be doing his job, but he hadn’t made any secret of the fact that he wasn’t a fan of journalists. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting just a little too much enjoyment out of the situation. She knew that unless she wanted to cause a scene, she had no other option but to admit defeat. ‘Fine,’ she said gritting her teeth.
Erik stepped aside to indicate she should walk ahead of him, and Pip narrowed her eyes.
‘If I don’t go, what are you going to do—handcuff me?’
‘You want me to handcuff you?’ he asked with a grin.
‘In your dreams,’ Pip muttered as she walked past. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I thought you journos knew how to deal with people?’
‘Apparently we rub some people the wrong way,’ she mumbled as she walked out the door and Erik fell into step beside her.
‘Yeah, well, not everyone handles threats well.’
‘I didn’t threaten him.’
‘He implied you were going to go public with, and I quote, “untruths”,’ he said. ‘Did you say that?’
‘I may have mentioned I wrote for the Daily Metro, but I also told him I was here to write Bert’s story.’
‘You’re a smart woman, Pip. You should know by now you can’t go around poking bears without expecting them to react.’
‘All I did was stand up for a man who can’t stand up for himself. Would you let someone disrespect one of your relatives if they were in here?’
‘He’s not your relative, though, is he?’ he pointed out. ‘And I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about this whole Bert Bigsby thing. You’re stirring up trouble. If you write that story, you’ll just be inviting animosity.’
Pip stopped and waited as Erik turned to face her. ‘Why is that?’
‘You have to understand small towns. They’re close-knit. Families are loyal and they can hold a grudge like no other,’ he told her calmly. ‘It doesn’t help that you’re an outsider,’ he added. ‘This is local business.’
As they walked outside, Pip ignored the whispers and curious looks from the staff and visitors they passed, but inside she was fuming. If people thought they could intimidate her into silence, they sure as hell didn’t know her too well. If she hadn’t already made up her mind to look into Bert and Molly’s story, this had just decided it for her.
Fourteen
Pip waited at the front door, talking to the annoying barking white dog, trying to calm it down, but no amount of coaxing could shut Winston up.
‘Oh hello, Pip. What a lovely surprise. Come on in,’ Anne said, coming to the rescue and smoothly sweeping the small dog aside with her slippered foot to open the screen door.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ Pip said, skirting around the dog and trying to ignore the fact it was sniffing about her feet, seemingly determined to trip her over.
‘Not at all, dear. I was just going to put the jug on.’
She stood at the kitchen bench and watched as Anne bustled about in the kitchen. ‘Go and take a seat,’ Anne said, shooing her towards the table across the room and then following with a plate of jam drops. ‘How have you been?’ she asked with a kind smile.
‘Busy, actually,’ Pip said. ‘I’ve just come back from Coopers Creek. I stopped in to see your Mr Bigsby.’
Anne stared at her with a hopeful look.
‘I’m not making any promises, but I thought maybe I’d go through that box of stuff you have of Bert’s and see if there’s anything in there that could be useful.’
Before Pip had even got the last word out of her mouth, Anne was up and practically running from the room, only to return within moments carrying a cardboard box, which led Pip to suspect she’d had it stashed somewhere conveniently close, waiting for this very moment.
‘I’ll get Pete to drop over the others, they’re too heavy to take now.’
Others? Hold on a minute …
‘But this one has some of the more important things in it—his old war records and personal correspondence. There’s some letters and a few books, that kind of thing. There were no letters from Molly, though,’ she tacked on, looking thoughtful. ‘I’m assuming Bert’s belongings would have been lost after he was taken prisoner, perhaps? Not to worry, I’m sure whatever’s in there will still be of interest to you,’ she smiled encouragingly.
‘Ah, okay … I’m sure this will be fine,’ Pip said quickly. ‘Pete doesn’t have to worry about bringing over the others,’ she tried to protest.
‘No, that’s perfectly fine. He won’t mind.’
Pip knew it was pointless trying to argue; it seemed Anne had already decided. She was beginning to understand that Anne was a force to be reckoned with.
Pip’s gaze wandered to the cardboard box on the table, and with a resigned sigh she stood and opened the top and peeked inside. A familiar smell greeted her—the musty, old-paper scent of things that had been stored away and forgotten for too long. She often encountered it while researching, digging through old papers and documents. It was a smell she always associated with curiosity and anticipation. She loved delving into archives and stepping back in time, getting lost in the past.
There was an assortment of smaller shoeboxes inside, and Pip withdrew one and carefully removed the lid, revealing a stack of letters, all neatly folded in their envelopes. She flicked through the pile and saw the envelopes were addressed to Mrs Herbert Bigsby, Rosevale, Midgiburra.
PVT. H. Bigsby
2/22nd Battalion
Victoria Barracks
Melbourne
My dearest Moll,
You know I’m not great at writing, but since I’ve been away, I’ve discovered, much to my surprise, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane!
I know it’s not the same as keeping a diary like you do. I used to marvel at your dedication as you scribbled away at night before you went to bed. But maybe in some way these letters back home will help to piece together my time away from you, once I return.
‘I only glanced at a few of them,’ Anne said, breaking the spell Pip had fallen under as she read. ‘I’m a bit allergic to the dust,’ she continued, giving a delicate sniff. ‘I’m not sure how useful any of it will be to you, but you never know.’
‘So Bert doesn’t have any other relatives? He didn’t have children?’ Pip asked, frowning as she tried to fit the letter back in its envelope.
‘No. No children. He used to speak about a brother, but I think he died as a child, and his parents were gone quite young too. He’d been working Rosevale since he was a boy. He never spoke about any other family, and the solicitors couldn’t track any down after his stroke.’
How sad, Pip thought, still struggling with the letter as she peered inside and realised there was something else in there. Reaching in with her fingertips, she pulled out a photograph. Turning it over, she froze.
The sepia tones of the old photograph, worn around the edges and with a crease mark down the centre, could not take away the instantly recognisable woman caught in its image.
Sitting on a picnic rug in front of an old tree was the woman she’d seen in her dreams.
‘Are you all right, dear?’ Anne asked.
Pip lifted her gaze from the photo and held it up. ‘Do you know who this woman is?’ she asked.
Anne reached out and held the photo back slightly before a sad smile broke out on her face. ‘That’s Molly,’ she said, handing the photo back. ‘She looks like a movie star in this photo, doesn’t she?’
Pip stared at the picture. Unlike her dream, the woman sitting on the blanket in this one wasn’t bent over a notebook but leaning back, her feet crossed at the ankles, wearing a button-up dress with a narrow belt. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back by a wide scarf and she was laughing at whoever was behind the camera taking the photo.
In the background, Pip could hear Anne chatting about something, but Pip was too numb to listen as she stared at the photo in her hand.
How was it possible?
‘Pip?’
Pip glanced over and saw Anne watching her with a worried frown. ‘You don’t look so well. Here, sit down,’ she said, moving the box aside and pulling out the chair for Pip to sink into.
‘Thanks,’ Pip said, feeling decidedly shaky. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, realising she couldn’t really tell Anne what had happened because she’d definitely sound like a crazy person. ‘It must be the heat.’
‘You poor thing. It has been terribly hot lately. I’ll get you a glass of water.’
Pip looked back down at the photograph she still clutched in her hand before carefully putting it inside the box. Maybe she was hallucinating? She accepted the tall glass of cold water from Anne and took a long sip. Just ignore it, she told herself firmly, and had another drink. When she got back home, she would sit down and take another look at it. It was probably just a coincidence. It was just a similar pose that reminded her of her dream, that’s all …
