‘I’ll get back to you on details but I do know that three of the councillors were dead set against it. And there was some community opposition.’
‘Why?’
‘The community objections were mostly from the prospective neighbouring farmers. Didn’t want the extra traffic, were worried about the effect on the river and the water and the general visual aspect. It’s a beautiful rural area and they didn’t want some ugly great resort on it.’
‘And the councillors?’
‘One of them supported the farmers but it was also something about the backers. Reckoned one of them was a criminal and had a dodgy past.’
‘I heard something about that but it was all rumours and gossip, wasn’t it? Nothing ever came of it. What were they basing it on?’
‘Not sure but it was to do with bikie gangs and drugs.’
‘Around here? Did they really take that seriously?’ He couldn’t hide his surprise. Sounded as though the councillor might have been the one on drugs.
‘I know.’ Janine cackled. ‘Hardly crime central, are we?’
‘You never know,’ he said. ‘Who were the three councillors?’
‘Ed Woodridge, Sara Lucknow and Myra Jessop. Myra’s retired now and Ed was diagnosed with cancer so stepped down.’
‘When was that?’
‘Late last year for Ed and January for Myra.’
‘What about Sara?’
‘Changed her mind.’
‘Why?’
‘I guess the others convinced her it was a good idea.’
Sara would be worth talking to.
‘When did the approvals go through?’
‘Just before Christmas. They had both the by-elections at the same time in early March.’
‘And the replacement councillors backed the developments?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. That’s very helpful, thanks, Janine. Can you tell me about the road maintenance budget?’
Twenty minutes later Arlo walked down the steps of the council building and turned left for the real estate agency and Carl Stoddart. He had just enough time to ask a few questions before his date with the MP.
He arrived back at his own office well pleased with the day’s work. Georgia looked up from her desk.
‘Hiya.’
‘Hi. How are you getting on with the road thing?’
‘Fine. Our mayor had a lot to say on the subject and he’s delighted we’re taking up the issue. I’m writing it up now. What did what’s-her-name the MP have to say?’
‘The usual means-nothing babble but it fills space and I got a photo of her standing next to the pothole looking concerned.’
‘MPs are good at that. I’ve just got back from Dot and Laurie’s. Banjo’s such a lovely old dog. He posed beautifully then went back to sleep.’
‘Good. Can you cover the game tomorrow? Riley’s arriving so I won’t be able to.’
‘Sure.’
Arlo sat down and typed his notes into the growing article. ‘My council source told me,’ he said when he’d finished, ‘that the road maintenance budget has had its third cut in as many years but federal funding has stayed the same so that’s not the reason.’
‘So they’re doing some fiddling behind the scenes. What are they spending the money on?’
‘According to Barry, Glenda’s ex, new offices. They took out a loan.’
‘And can’t repay it.’
‘They can but other areas are suffering. Not just roads but parks and gardens and the rates have risen out of all proportion to property values and amenities provided. The Willoughby paper did an article on it a while back but didn’t come up with any specific allegations of corruption.’
‘It can’t just be the offices, can it? Have they given themselves pay rises?’
‘Not outrageously so but there have been a few fact-finding trips taken.’
‘Let me guess—to Bali? Fiji?’
‘The Gold Coast was one and another to Cairns.’
‘What?’
‘Exactly. My source wasn’t sure why those two places were so relevant to Willoughby.’
‘Who went?’
‘A councillor and the secretary.’ And one of them was Sara Lucknow. Coincidence or a sweetener for her change of heart regarding the development applications?
‘Together?’
Arlo snorted. ‘No, but with their families.’
‘And they charged the council?’
‘Not as far as my source knows, no …’
‘What’s the problem then?’
‘They were paid for by an anonymous donor.’
‘What were they supposed to be investigating?’
‘Traffic management and parking, and waste recycling.’
‘Very fishy smell there.’
‘Yes. I just wish I could tie it all together.’
‘How come no-one knows about any of this? I mean, people always reckon there’s some sort of wheeling and dealing going on in any governing body but it’s just speculation and general grumbling with no real basis because nobody ever trusts the government, it’s a rule.’
She had a point but if there was corruption …
‘The councillors aren’t going to go blabbing this sort of stuff to the papers or anyone else, are they?’ Arlo said. ‘And the rank and file workers like to keep their jobs. My source will answer questions but won’t approach me with information.’
He’d left a message on Sara’s voicemail. Ed was in a hospice and too ill to talk to according to Janine. Myra, the retired councillor, lived a few streets away from the council offices so he’d dropped in on the off chance. She was home but she wasn’t talking. In fact she’d told him very tersely she had nothing to say and to leave her alone, before the door closed firmly in his face.
‘It’s Friday so we’ve got eleven days or so before our next issue deadline,’ Georgia said. ‘We’ve got time to look into it, haven’t we?’
‘It can be an ongoing thing if necessary. The two new councillors were all for the Greenhill development applications which may or may not put their election into question. Council corruption is a whole new can of worms I’m not sure we want to go into. We’ll focus on the lack of road maintenance for now.’
***
Mia spent most of Friday morning organising quotes from tradesmen for the kitchen benches. All had been recommended by Carl but she went with grey-haired Phil who arrived when he said he would, seemed competent and efficient and gave her a price she thought sounded fair.
‘Knew your dad, Tony,’ he said casually after he’d handed her his quote. ‘Knew them both. Sad thing. Very sad.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
‘Yes. How did you know him?’
‘I do some work for the agency when they need a rental property repaired. He was a good man. Knew Glenda first, of course.’ He shook his head. ‘Never thought he’d be the type to do that.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘Just goes to show …’ He didn’t elaborate so she nodded and murmured agreement.
‘By the way did you ever meet someone called Alan Brown?’
He frowned and scratched his chin again. ‘Alan Brown …’ Nodded. ‘Yeah. A while back now. He was selling his house and wanted some work done. Window frames and eaves.’
‘What did he do? His job.’
‘He was retired. Don’t know what he did before that. Why?’
‘He was someone Dad knew.’ Someone who took him to the gun club.
On the way to Wagga for the new fridge she mulled over his words. Phil was another person who couldn’t believe it of her father. He wouldn’t make the leap to murder, as few locals would, but he added to the weight of her conviction that another person had been in the house that night. How had they got in and out without being seen and without leaving a trace? And how had they got hold of her dad’s gun? It had to be someone he either knew or was expecting. Didn’t it? Or someone who knew he had a gun. That was an absolute necessity because the
fake suicide plan wouldn’t work otherwise. How many people was that?
She hissed air through her teeth. A lot. It was no secret.
That evening she phoned Arlo for an update. It had become automatic to check in with him and share information. He answered immediately and his voice sent a warm glow washing through her body. She settled back on the bed against the stacked up pillows, shoes off and the heating turned up. Moving to the hotel had turned out to be a good idea and they served a decent breakfast in the dining room.
‘How did you get on? Buy a new fridge?’ he asked.
‘Yes, and it arrives on Monday. I also hired a guy called Phil to do the benchtops. The laminate will be going in next week and the floor should be in on Wednesday with any luck.’
‘So it’s taking shape.’
‘Yes, shouldn’t be long now. Another week after that perhaps, depending on the painter, and you can move in.’
‘And then you’ll go back to Sydney?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ he said. ‘Our discussions.’
Heat surged to her face. Her throat tightened. ‘I’ll miss them too, and you. You’ve been very kind.’
‘Being neighbourly,’ he said easily.
Of course. Don’t forget she’d brought him a story, something that got his investigative juices flowing again.
‘You’ll be busy with your son.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
A silence grew.
He said, ‘I found out about Alan Brown.’
‘So did I,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s retired.’
‘Yes, he and his wife moved to the coast. To Narooma. I called him. He’d been a member of the gun club for years and he took Tony along. That’s about it. He left town a few months later. He said Tony was fastidious about safety and took the regulations very seriously. He said he’d only have his gun out if he was cleaning it or was taking it to the club. He might show it to a prospective buyer but he had no idea if that was the case because he’d left town well before the shooting. He also said Tony wouldn’t have the ammunition out for cleaning or showing a buyer. They always keep that locked in a separate box.’
‘Interesting. I was thinking about it too and the shooter has to be someone who knew Tony had a gun and therefore planned to use that one. Otherwise it wouldn’t look like suicide.’
‘Premeditated and well-planned. That was the sticking point for the police apart from the evidence. No motive for such an elaborate plan.’
‘Right.’ Facts were such a nuisance.
‘I found out something interesting today.’ Arlo launched into an account of his conversation with his contact in the council office. It sounded as though they all had their snouts in the trough. Should that be a surprise? After some of the goings-on over the years in other councils, probably not, but was it correct?
‘Where did they get the idea the developers were involved with drugs and bikie gangs? Did she mean Barry?’
‘No, it was one of the backers.’
‘The Baran brothers?’
‘Or people they knew.’
‘That’s more likely than Barry. I doubt he’d have the links.’
Her father was hardly involved in that sort of activity. Arlo was going off on a tangent. Not surprising when the tantalising thought of a real criminal operation was put up against the vague suppositions of a dream. The mental concoction of a bereaved daughter.
‘Barry could have been approached by someone.’
‘Or the company could be used, I suppose. Isn’t all this irrelevant to my father? It sounds more like something the organised crime police should be looking at.’
‘Like I said before. I don’t know.’
‘Dad wouldn’t have anything to do with that sort of thing,’ she said abruptly.
‘I’m not saying he did.’
‘Why would he be killed in that case? And Glenda. Do you think she was involved in something? Head of a criminal network?’
He was silent.
She said, ‘You’re wondering if Dad really was murdered, aren’t you?’
‘I’m trying to find some sort of evidence that would suggest that and trying to find a motive. If I can discover why someone would want him dead we’d be on track.’
‘What if it was really Glenda they wanted dead? No-one’s ever thought she was the target. Not surprising in this town.’
Bitchy, she knew, but if Arlo was having doubts she may as well give up and live with the possibility that a murderer had pulled off the perfect crime. And live with the dream.
‘That’s true. No-one has. Hmm.’
Slightly mollified by his tone she said, ‘You don’t really think she was the target, do you?’
‘We shouldn’t rule it out.’
‘So someone came in to kill her and shot them both?’
‘Why not?’
‘All the same things apply in that case. Premeditated and well-planned. Using Dad’s gun to blame him. And no motive.’
‘That we know of in either scenario. Yet.’ After a few moments silence he told her about his failed attempts to contact the ex-councillors, finishing with, ‘I can’t get past the idea that it’s all connected.’
‘So you haven’t given up on it?’ Relief made her voice shake. Hadn’t given up on her.
His breath feathered into the phone. ‘Mia, I won’t give up. Not until we work out what happened that night.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
‘Good night.’
‘Good night.’
That night the dream shocked her awake, panting, staring wide-eyed at the unfamiliar shapes in the dark, the faint light sliding round the curtains across a window that was in the wrong place. She sat up, rubbed her face and dragged in a deep breath, forcing her breathing to return to normal.
This time the dream had been different. This time she’d seen a face. Arlo. She’d seen Arlo.
What did that mean? Mia lay back against the pillow. Was it because he’d reassured her he was still helping? Most likely. The gunshots had terrified her but the figure had never been threatening, she’d never thought that shadowy shape was the murderer. Had she been waiting for someone to come to her aid and now he had? Did the figure represent help? Was that it?
She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the covers.
A banging door and raised voices woke her in the morning. It was late, past nine. She’d missed breakfast in the dining room but Hannah’s café served breakfast till eleven. Other than that an empty day stretched ahead of her apart from a few bits and pieces to clear from the house. What did people do in Taylor’s Bend on a Saturday?
She found her answer when half an hour later she took a table by the window in the café. A different waitress was on duty this time. A dark-haired teenager with a bright smile.
‘Good morning,’ she chirruped. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Good morning. Could I have a pot of tea, please? And the oatmeal.’
‘Of course. Thank you.’ She went away.
When she returned with the tea Mia said, ‘What do you recommend I do today? Is there something I should see in the area? Some sort of local attraction?’
‘If you like walking you could go to the national park, there are hiking trails there. Or there are a couple of wineries in the area. You might not be interested as you’re not a local, but it’s a home game this afternoon. The footy,’ she added when Mia looked at her blankly. ‘At the sportsground.’
‘Right. I drove past it when I came in from Willoughby. What time?’
‘Three, but everyone gets there early. Get a ticket at the ground. You’ll enjoy it.’
An afternoon at the footy. Mia hadn’t been to a game for years and had only gone then because the man she was dating was a football tragic. She couldn’t remember who played but whoever it was the right team had won so her date was ecstatic and talked about nothing else for the rest of the night.
She might as well go along today but she�
��d need a beanie because the meagre warmth left the day early and she’d be freezing by the end of the game. A new warmer scarf wouldn’t go astray either. That would fill in some of the intervening time. There was a handicraft shop farther along the street on the other side of The Crown that would be fun to explore.
The café had a newspaper rack by the counter and she collected a copy of her usual Sydney read. Yesterday’s edition but she hadn’t read a newspaper since she’d been here. She was engrossed in an article when her oatmeal arrived, delivered by the grey-haired woman Arlo had pointed out as Hannah, the owner.
‘Hello, Mia.’ She placed the bowl on the table along with a small jug of honey and a dish of sliced banana.
‘Thanks. Hello. Hannah, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. How are you getting on with the house?’
‘Fine.’
‘That’s good.’
She hovered for a moment then said, ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’
‘Thank you.’ If Hannah thought she was going to pick up some information to gossip about she was wrong.
The woman smiled and went away. Mia watched her from the corner of her eye as she returned to the kitchen, then began eating.
When she went to pay her bill at the counter Hannah reappeared. Mia tapped her card and took the receipt. As she turned to leave, Hannah said softly, ‘Tell Arlo I remembered something he might be interested in.’
‘About what?’
‘Something Glenda said.’
‘I won’t see him till Monday. His son’s arriving today.’
‘Okay, but when you see him.’ She smiled brightly at a couple who stood behind Mia waiting for her to go.
‘Thanks, Hannah. It was delicious oatmeal.’
‘Glad you enjoyed it. The honey is local.’
Out on the street Mia made a snap decision and turned right. Arlo lived steps away and his son wouldn’t have arrived yet. She walked down the driveway and knocked on the back door. He was probably inside desperately trying to organise some space.
Hurried footsteps sounded and the door flew open but his impatient expression morphed into a smile when he saw her, drawing her towards him, enveloping her. She gulped and swallowed, recovered. She was thirty-six, for God’s sake, not fifteen and he wasn’t the first attractive man she’d encountered.
A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3) Page 11