A Stone's Throw Away, page 9
‘Come on, detective,’ Pip tried persuasively, ‘you said yourself, this is a cold case.’
‘It’s still an active case at the moment, and until I have anything more concrete, I’m not at liberty to share any of it with the media.’
‘But I already told you—I’m not working this story.’
‘And yet here you are, pumping me for info like a seasoned journo,’ he said, sounding amused.
Pip gave a short, forceful huff. ‘Fine. Don’t tell me.’ Oh God, did she seriously just say that? What was she, a seven-year-old?
‘Ms Devonport, are you pouting?’
‘Thank you for the update, detective,’ she managed to get out through clenched teeth, feeling like an idiot, hearing his soft, deep laugh before she ended the call.
Two days later, Pip had just finished a call with her mother when she heard the front gate protesting as it opened. Her heart began to race and she took a moment to do the slow, steady breathing her doctor had taught her. She’d thought she was getting past all this, but maybe it was only because it was an unexpected visitor.
She forced herself to walk to the front door, peeking through the window before breathing out a long breath and unlocking it.
‘Hi, Anne,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she was feeling on the inside.
‘Hello, Pip. I’m sorry for barging in on you like this but, well … I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?’
The Anne she’d met the other day had seemed relaxed and happy as she’d pottered about her kitchen, but today there was a different feel about her. Pip noticed she was wringing her hands together slightly as she stood on the doorstep, and her smile was strained.
‘Of course, come on in,’ Pip said, worried that something terrible may have happened but unsure how it might relate to her. She led the way through to the bright sun-filled kitchen and asked if Anne would like a coffee.
‘This was always such a lovely room,’ Anne said, and this time her smile was softer. ‘Bert loved sitting out here, especially in winter.’
‘I’m finding it’s a nice space to work,’ she said, hesitating only briefly as she came over to gather up the assortment of books and paperwork spread out on the table to toss back into the box. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘No, please don’t disrupt your workspace for me,’ Anne said quickly.
Pip looked around helplessly at the clutter she’d created over the past few days trying to sort her research into piles. ‘Maybe we should go outside and sit,’ she said awkwardly.
‘That sounds perfect,’ Anne smiled, looking relieved that Pip had stopped trying to clean up.
As she went across to where her coffee machine took pride of place on the kitchen bench, she noticed Anne darting a curious glance at the contents on the table. Pip tried to decide if she was annoyed or okay with it. On the one hand, there was nothing top secret there and, as far as anyone else knew, it was just a bunch of court documents and legal mumbo-jumbo. On the other hand, she’d never had to worry about anyone disturbing her work because she lived alone and usually had an office to contain her mess.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Anne started cautiously, making Pip glance up a little apprehensively. ‘I overheard someone talking about you in town this morning … Is it true? Are you really a journalist—the one who broke the story on Lenny Knight?’ Pip concentrated extra hard on stirring the contents of the coffee cup before her to hide her surprise. ‘That’s me. Although I wasn’t aware anyone would know me here.’
‘Jan from the bakery said she recognised you from the TV, when all that … trouble happened.’
Pip didn’t have to ask what trouble she meant—clearly her infamy had preceded her.
‘That must have been awful, you poor thing. I’m so glad you’re okay now.’
Yeah, nothing to worry about—I only have the occasional panic attack now and again, she thought blandly. ‘Shall we go outside?’ Pip said, leading the way out the back door and setting the mugs down on the small table on the verandah.
They settled themselves for a few moments in silence before Anne took a sip of her coffee and carefully placed it back down in front of her. ‘I came out here to see you because … well …’ She gave a frustrated little sigh. ‘I honestly don’t know who else can help.’
‘Help? With what?’
‘Help Bert.’
‘Bert Bigsby?’
Anne nodded encouragingly.
‘How would I be able to help him?’
‘You could uncover the story behind Molly’s disappearance. I’ve just come from visiting him, and he was very agitated. The police had been to see him, apparently, and they told him about Molly being found.’
‘Anne, I don’t really think there’s much to uncover. Molly didn’t disappear—she died. On Bert’s property. What if you’re wrong and he might have actually had something to do with it?’
‘But he didn’t,’ Anne said adamantly. ‘If you knew him—before, when he was younger—you would have seen how devastated he was. He was a broken man. He loved Molly. He told me, every day he woke up and hoped that would be the day Molly came home. He didn’t kill her. He’s been living with everyone around him accusing him of this terrible thing—and he’s innocent.’
‘Look, I know it’s hard when you believe someone … you want to believe them. But you said yourself that the war changed him. Even if he is innocent, I don’t know what you think I can do for him. It was seventy-odd years ago. The police are treating it as a cold case. He had an alibi, and they’re not going to reopen an investigation when Bert’s the only one still alive, and he’s in his nineties. They only have circumstantial evidence after all this time. Bert won’t be thrown in prison or anything.’
‘It’s not that,’ Anne said, her eyebrows drawn together in distress. ‘The town’s … well, it’s just dug everything back up again. People are saying the most terrible things about him, and it just breaks my heart.’ Anne touched the corner of her eye quickly before sniffing and clearing her throat. ‘He’s lived his whole life being called a murderer—can you imagine that? People calling you names and accusing you of killing the one person you loved? All the while knowing you didn’t do it and that she was missing.’ Anne stopped and shook her head slowly. ‘He’s led such a lonely, sad life. I just wish his innocence could be proven so he could go in peace—finally. Instead, all this hate has flared up again.’
‘I’m sorry, Anne, but I came here to write a book, and to be honest, I just don’t have time to take on something like this at the moment. I mean, I’m not even sure I know what to believe about the whole thing myself.’
‘I understand,’ Anne said quietly, standing and picking up her cup. ‘I just thought you of all people wouldn’t be so quick to judge—you always seem so impartial and fair-minded in your stories.’
Pip inwardly rolled her eyes. That one hit a nerve. She was impartial, damn it! She’d been going back and forth with the whole Bert thing for days. The fact his missing wife had been found on his property was somewhat damning, and the police were being close-mouthed about the whole thing, which made her wonder if maybe they’d discovered something new. Then there was the alibi that they were still looking into. It wasn’t exactly clear-cut despite Anne’s unwavering certainty of Bert’s innocence. Yet Pip found herself wanting to believe he was innocent too.
As a reporter, Pip knew she had to weigh up both sides of the story and gather all the evidence. And yes, she was bothered by the fact that the whole town already seemed convinced Bert was a murderer and had convicted him in the court of public opinion without a fair trial. But clearing Bert’s name wasn’t her job.
She followed Anne inside and towards the front door, then stopped as the woman turned to face her. ‘Pete and I helped oversee the sale of this place before it went on the market,’ Anne said with a small smile as she glanced around slowly. ‘We sold all the furniture and cleaned the place up as per the solicitor’s instructions. We were told to donate or throw away anything that wouldn’t sell, but I couldn’t bear to get rid of a lot of Bert’s personal belongings, so I packed them up and stored them at our place in case some long-lost relative turned up one day.’ Anne’s smile didn’t suggest she was hopeful of that happening. She seemed to hesitate briefly. ‘If you change your mind, you’re welcome to come and look through Bert’s belongings. In case there’s something in there that might help.’ She bit her lip before blurting out, ‘If you went to see him, you’d understand.’ Pip saw her eyes begin to fill with tears, but she turned and hurried back to her car before Pip could even reply.
Pip watched until the car disappeared and a trail of dust slowly settled in its wake. Anne was clearly upset by the whole thing. Pip understood that, but she still didn’t see that there was anything to be gained by looking into the story after all this time. Still, she felt bad for her neighbour. Anne was clearly a very caring woman who’d taken the town oddball under her wing and looked after him for the last thirty or so years. Of course she would want to try to find some kind of justification for it all … but Pip wouldn’t be the one to do it. She had enough to worry about, writing her own story.
Twelve
Pip glanced around and realised it was getting dark. She’d made slight progress on the book, compiling the notes she wanted to expand on to create a chapter, so she was feeling somewhat positive about the afternoon’s work for a change as she went through the daily ritual of closing the curtains and checking the windows were all locked. It was a little later than she normally began to lock up—darkness had already descended. As she looked out through the window she could no longer see the trees along the far boundary fence, and the light from the kitchen spilled out across the lawn casting a dull yellow glow across the dry ground.
An unease settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of just how secluded the little house was. At home, there were neighbours and streetlights and the constant sound of passing traffic—out here, there was nothing. She didn’t mind it through the daylight hours—she liked the quiet—but at night, it was just so dark. There wasn’t even any moonlight this evening, which made it even blacker. Logically she knew that there was nothing out there in the dark that wasn’t out there in the daylight—it was simply hidden. But it was the hidden things that were the problem. Pip pulled the curtains shut and turned away. You’re fine. There’s nothing out there that’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here. That was the mantra she’d been using since she’d arrived, and it usually worked, but tonight it took a lot longer to restore her calm.
She gave up on getting any more writing done tonight—the last thing she needed was to be consumed with Lenny bloody Knight while she was so jumpy. Her mind briefly went to the make-up bag in the bathroom and the bottle of prescription medication inside, but she forced the thought away. Her doctor had given her the tablets to take if she needed them, but she didn’t like the way they made her feel—she liked to be in control and she didn’t feel that way when she took them.
Those first few weeks after her attack had gone by in a blur. She’d been in hospital for close to a week and then stayed with her parents until the worst of her injuries had healed. When she thought back to that time, all she really remembered was the utter vulnerability she’d been submerged in. She’d felt as though she was drowning. She never wanted to feel like that again—powerless, weak. She’d been determined to fight back, and she had by facing Lenny Knight in court.
He’d threatened her when she began digging around in the early days, then attempted to bribe her, and when that didn’t work, he’d tried to have her killed and she still hadn’t backed down. Despite facing him in court, looking him in the eye when she gave her testimony, there wasn’t the magical return of her earlier confidence. She was still trying to put back all the pieces he broke.
Pip’s eyes shot open, her heart beating hard as she tried to work out what had woken her. A creak of timber boards outside on the verandah sounded, and her body went rigid, her senses instantly tuned in to every tiny sound and movement. For a long moment she waited, listening, then just as she was ready to relax, another creak, louder than the last one, made her sit upright and reach for her phone. Taking it with her, she crouched behind her bedroom door, fingers fumbling as she turned it on, the greenish glow from the screen lighting up the room as she found the keypad and dialled triple zero.
She crept along the hallway as she waited for the call to connect, her heart pounding painfully through her chest.
‘Triple zero, what’s your emergency?’ a female voice came over the line.
‘I think someone’s outside my house,’ she whispered in a low tone.
‘Can you see anyone?’
‘I haven’t looked. But I heard footsteps.’
‘Are your doors locked?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there anyone else in the house with you?’
‘No. It’s just me.’
‘Okay, I’ve got your location and I’ve put in a call to the police. Someone will be out there shortly.’
Pip’s eyes darted around the dark room, every shadow making her heart rate increase. Another creak from outside suddenly spurred her into action and she moved swiftly to the light switch and flicked it on, lighting up the outside porch. There was a thud followed by a crash and Pip let out a scream, sinking to the floor and covering her head with her arms as her whole body shook.
She had no idea how long she sat there for, but it was long enough for her body to feel stiff and sore. The sound of an engine approaching and a car door opening and closing made her lift her head and listen intently. Heavy boots echoed on the step outside before a loud knock made her leap to her feet and stare wide-eyed at the front door.
‘Pip, it’s Erik Nielsen.’
Pip let out a long, shaky breath as she reached for the doorknob, slowly opening it to peep out.
‘We got a call for a disturbance. Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said, having to clear her throat. Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. ‘I’m sorry to get you out here like this,’ she said. Now that she had someone with her, the earlier fear had begun to ebb away, leaving her feeling a little stupid.
‘No worries. What happened?’
Daylight had begun to lighten the dark sky and she could just make out the silhouette of trees across the paddock. ‘I heard something outside … on the verandah.’ Pip stopped then pushed the screen door open wider to step outside. One of her uncle’s tin milk cans from the shelf under the window lay on its side on the wooden boards. ‘When I turned on the light, they ran away and knocked that over,’ she said, nodding towards the can.
‘They? As in more than one? Did you get a look at them?’ he asked, instantly alert and looking around.
‘Not exactly,’ she said, then gave a small grimace when he looked back at her. ‘I didn’t actually see anyone, and I don’t really know why I said they—it could have just been one. I could just hear someone out on the verandah … the boards were squeaking.’
‘It’s an old house, Pip,’ he said, his demeanour seeming to relax slightly. ‘They’re full of creaks and groans.’ He moved across to the fallen can, inspecting the immediate area around it before sitting it upright. ‘Could have been a possum nosing about up here,’ he said, putting the can back on the shelf.
‘Surely a possum wouldn’t have been heavy enough to make the boards squeak?’
‘You’d be surprised. They can grow pretty big around here. But I’ll take a look around and see if I can find anything, just to be sure.’
‘Thanks,’ Pip said, managing a slight smile as she watched him leave the front verandah and walk around the side of the house. She closed the door and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. As she opened the tin and took out the scoop, she noticed her hands were not quite steady, and she forced herself to calm down. Erik was most likely right. It could have been an animal snooping about that got a fright when the light came on, only … She gave a small, frustrated huff. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she’d heard footsteps … the human kind, not tiny possum ones.
‘Hello?’ she heard Erik call as he opened the front door a few moments later.
‘In the kitchen,’ she called back, taking down two mugs.
‘There’s no sign of anything out of place around the house. I couldn’t find any footprints or damage to any of the windows. Thanks,’ he said, accepting the mug she handed him. ‘I reckon it was just a possum or maybe a stray cat.’
‘Sorry to get you out here at this stupid hour. I feel like an idiot now.’ Pip winced and tucked her hair behind her ear.
‘Not a problem, all part of the service,’ he said, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘It’s understandable you’d be a bit jumpy.’ He held her startled glance before adding, ‘After the assault and all.’
Pip eyed him silently as she drank from her mug, concentrating hard on keeping her hand steady. She wasn’t sure she liked that he knew about her attack, though it had made the news at the time, mainly due to the high-profile case. ‘It’s over and done with now.’
‘I guess it goes hand in hand with the job? I mean, you guys dig up a lot of dirt on a lot of people—it’s bound to come back on you at some point.’
‘Occasionally.’
‘So why do you do it? I mean, is it worth it? The threats and, in your case, almost getting killed?’
She tried not to flinch at his words but it was hard not to. ‘I do it because, like you, I want justice. If someone’s doing something wrong or abusing their power, they shouldn’t get away with it. And yes, I guess it is worth it when you know you’ve helped uncover something that can lead to that person being put away.’
‘But it’s not your job. It should be up to the police to investigate,’ he pointed out.
Pip shrugged. ‘You guys don’t have the manpower to investigate every single lead that comes up. That’s where we come in. We can put the time in and get answers in ways police often can’t.’
