by Candice Fox
Amanda flattened her sticker against her breast. Todd watched her, his look still slightly glazed, distant.
‘Friday afternoon I had a delivery in Redlynch,’ he said. ‘I was there around four o’clock. Then I stopped in Cairns for dinner and a couple of drinks. I guess time got away from me. I was home about eleven.’
‘Did you approach the White Caps Hotel at any time?’ I asked. ‘Even to walk past? Did you park in the adjacent car park or go into the lobby?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘And you didn’t see any boys in the street during your time in town? Did you speak to any children? Were any children in or around your car that night?’
‘No,’ he said again, a detached, awkward smile painted on his lips. ‘No, I didn’t go near any children.’
‘You came into Cairns via Reservoir Road?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t drive home that way.’
‘No.’
‘It would have made sense to take Reservoir Road, route 91, or the Bruce Highway south. But you didn’t take either of those.’
‘I sometimes drive places a stupid way,’ Todd laughed. ‘My sense of direction is terrible.’
‘Terrible or not, your sense of direction leaves us unable to determine what time your car left Cairns,’ I said.
‘Yes.’ Todd pursed his lips. ‘It does.’
A silence descended over us. Todd watched Amanda, and I watched him, trying to regather myself. As much as I hated to hear Todd try to relate to me, Damien Clark had sent Amanda and me because he thought I might be able to connect with Todd in a way the police could not. That perhaps I could offer him a safe place to speak his thoughts, and from there I might be able to derive leads. I caught Amanda’s eye and jutted my chin towards the kitchen. She wandered in there, her arms folded, and I heard her open a door to the backyard.
‘I guess this is my life now,’ Todd said, even before I could attempt to pick up the conversation. ‘A kid goes missing and they come poking around. I suppose I’ll have to get used to dealing with police. I was so nervous when I walked into the station the first time. They’re not a bad bunch, though, not really. A bit gruff.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing personal,’ I said.
‘It never goes away, does it?’ he asked. ‘I mean, it’s been, what, two years for you?’
‘About that,’ I said.
‘Can I ask you –’ He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. ‘Were you able to, uh … Are there people in your life? I mean, I know you’ve got your partner …’
‘I have friends,’ I said. ‘They’re few, and they were difficult to acquire. I had to get used to my own company, but prison helped with that. I lost my wife. My child. Not completely. They’re still in my life but it’s carefully managed.’
‘You don’t notice how much you use the phone until something like this happens,’ Todd said, still smiling oddly. ‘I never realised it before, but I was constantly texting people. Calling people. Going out to dinners and drinks and things. I used to talk to my brother every couple of days. It’s so quiet now that I sometimes go a week without looking at my phone or emails. Maybe that’s why I stayed so long in Cairns. Sometimes I like to be out around people. To hear other voices. Everyone just … flees. They flee right out of your life like rats jumping off a sinking ship.’
I thought about Laney Bass. There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to discover who I was, whether I told her or someone else did. I had the sudden impulse to take out my phone, text her, tell her I was going to come and get the bird. I would flee from her before she fled from me.
Amanda came into the room, holding an axe by her side.
At first it didn’t register in my mind. She held it casually, like a kid with a stick, tapping the butt against her calf. She swung the tool up and let its weight fall into her other hand, testing its balance, turning the thing by the handle with her wrist like a sword fighter.
‘Check out this big boy.’ She grinned.
Todd turned and caught sight of her, then leapt off the couch, his mouth falling open.
‘What are you do–’ he began.
His words were cut off by the thunderous crunch of the axe into the top of the television set. Amanda had swung the axe up and over her head in a perfect arc, her thin, colourful arms straining under the momentum, the blade splitting through the front left corner of the wooden box and embedding itself in the machinery of the set. The glass screen crashed out of the box in a shower of shards. The small wooden legs at the front of the set gave way and the television collapsed like a fat man on his knees.
‘Holy shit!’ I shouted. Before I could voice more of my surprise, Amanda had lifted and swung the axe again, cutting through the back half of the set, spilling the box and its contents on the floor.
I could barely hear Amanda’s voice over my panting, over Todd’s gasps and moans of surprise and horror. My partner was cheerfully shifting chunks of glass and machinery away from the wreckage of the television set, exposing the tight rolls of fabric that had been stacked carefully all around the inside of the television’s wooden casing.
‘It’s like a Christmas bonbon,’ she was saying, crouching and picking wires and splinters of wood away from the little fabric bundles. ‘Crack it open and BOOM! An explosion of treasures.’
‘What is all that?’ I asked, initially addressing Amanda, then turning to Todd, who stood not far from me, watching my partner with his mouth open and his hands by his sides like a sleepwalker. ‘Mr DeCasper? What are all those things?’
He didn’t answer. Amanda took one of the little rolls and unwrapped the elastic band that secured the fabric. She tossed the band away and flipped the fabric roll open with a flourish, like a waiter opening a napkin to lay across a patron’s lap.
She held up the item. It was a pair of colourful boys’ shorts.
I had Amanda keep an eye on Todd DeCasper while I went to the car to get evidence bags. When I left the house he was sitting on the couch with his hands on his knees, palms down, fingers straight, like a child waiting for a school photo. I told him what he likely already knew, that I’d have to secure the collection of clothes for evidence, call the police and see what they wanted to do. They would come, research the house, requestion DeCasper about where the children’s clothes had come from and why he had them. The former teacher didn’t offer any explanation for the clothing items hidden in his television set. I stood and watched Amanda carefully picking the little rolls of fabric out of the remains of the TV unit for a little while, and then went outside. There must have been fifty rolls, some of which looked like T-shirts, others shorts or trousers.
I keep a full police-standard evidence kit in the boot of my car. Although I’m no longer a cop, crimes flutter around my investigative work for Amanda, and some of the items prove to be useful. Latex gloves and tweezers, fibre collection tape. I opened the boot and started rustling about, my jaw clicking with anger, the sound of Amanda’s axe crashing through the television screen still shuddering in my brain.
When a text came through I paused and took it, looking for any distraction the world could offer me from my dark conclusions about Todd DeCasper.
It was from Kelly. You didn’t forget about the strawberries, did you?
At first I thought the message must have been a mistake. I texted back.
Huh?
Lillian’s strawberry allergy.
I stared at the message. The neighbour who had been raking leaves was on his nature strip, hosing flowers along the fence, watching me. I called my ex-wife.
‘Lillian’s what?’ I asked as the line connected.
‘I knew you’d forget,’ Kelly said. She gave a harsh sigh. ‘Lillian’s allergic to strawberries. Lucky I reminded you. You never remember these things.’
I was lost for words. My mouth opened and shut but no sound came out.
‘Kelly,’ I said eventually. ‘Never in my life have you ever, ever t
old me anything about Lillian having an allergy.’
‘I did tell you,’ Kelly said. ‘I told you months ago, when I saw you. I made sure you knew. I wouldn’t let you look after our child without knowing.’
‘Oh no. No you didn’t.’ I pointed, as though she could see me. ‘You did not. I would have remembered if you told me.’
‘You –’
‘I’m not allergic to anything, and you’re not allergic to anything, so the fact that our child is allergic to something would have stuck in my mind for two reasons – first, because I’m her father and I should know these things, and second because it’s interesting!’
‘I told you.’
‘You didn’t tell me, Kelly, because you’re ringing me right now completely out of the blue to tell me. You’re not doing that because you suddenly realised I’d probably forgotten. You’re doing that because you suddenly realised you’d forgotten.’
‘I don’t know why you’re yelling at me,’ Kelly said. ‘You’re yelling at me and shoving evidence in my face like you’re still a cop or something. You’re not a cop, Ted.’
‘Is she allergic to anything else?’ I asked. ‘What kind of allergy is it? Does she get a rash or does she have an EpiPen? Christ! Where’s the EpiPen? Is it in her bag?’
‘She’s not allergic to anything else,’ Kelly huffed. ‘She gets a severe rash and a couple of times she’s become hoarse but she hasn’t been prescribed an EpiPen. The doctor thinks she’ll grow out of it.’
‘Kelly, for fuck’s sake!’
Kelly hung up on me. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly get to Val’s number in my phone. The sun was searing on the back of my neck. I walked to the shade of a nearby tree and stood chewing my lips until she answered.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Lillian’s allergic to strawberries,’ I managed.
‘Well, let’s not throw her in the bin just yet.’
‘Have you given her any strawberries? Are there any strawberries in the house?’
‘No, there’s not,’ Val said. I could hear Lillian talking in the background, a child’s run-on babbling. ‘You sound frantic. What’s happening?’
‘I didn’t know she was allergic to strawberries. Kelly just told me. She said she told me months ago. I don’t think that’s right! I would have remembered!’
‘Maybe she didn’t tell you.’
‘Val,’ I breathed. ‘I could have given her strawberries. I could have killed my own child because I didn’t know she had allergies. What if I’d given her a big bowlful and sent her to bed? How did I not know she had allergies? What kind of father doesn’t know that?’
‘Ted,’ Val said carefully, ‘you didn’t give her any strawberries.’
I leaned against the tree trunk and listened to the background noise of the call, Lillian’s feet clattering through the house, the screen door slamming and Celine barking.
‘You didn’t know,’ Val said. ‘And it doesn’t matter whose fault it is that you didn’t. But now you do. No harm has been done. So instead of turning into a puddle on the floor, you’re going to gather yourself up, brush off your shoulders, fix your hair and carry on.’
I stood, wiping the sweat from my brow with the hem of my T-shirt.
‘Is she allergic to anything else?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Well, good-o then,’ Val said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
I sighed into the phone. I was about to express my thanks, but the sound of a gunshot cut off my words, the unmistakeable pop noise coming from inside DeCasper’s house.
I ducked behind the low front wall, looked across the street, where the neighbour was still watching me. He’d heard the sound, and now took my reaction to mean it was exactly what he thought it was. He dropped the hose and ran. I hung up on Val, ran in a crouch to the car and got my gun from under the front seat.
Please, I thought, don’t let this be Amanda. Even in my rising panic, I knew there was only a slim chance the gunshot had nothing to do with my partner. She had fired on DeCasper, or he had fired on her – the two equally likely scenarios flashing through my mind with sickening clarity.
‘Amanda!’ I called from behind the front wall, shoving the magazine into the gun. ‘Amanda!’
There was no sound from inside the house. I turned and jumped over the neighbour’s front fence, landing awkwardly in loose bark chips, stumbling along the side of their property. There were two Rottweilers barking at a diamond-wire gate at the side of the house. I didn’t have the time or the patience to avoid them. I needed to get to my partner. As I landed on the other side of the gate the dogs split and bolted for the back door, their aggression a display they weren’t prepared to back up. I ran towards the back of the garden, hopped the side fence and landed near the back stairs to DeCasper’s house.
‘Amanda!’ I called. My voice was high with hope. ‘Are you okay? I’m coming in!’
I heard her before I saw her, the rasping of a cigarette lighter barrel striking the flint as she pushed the screen door open with her free hand. She came out onto the little porch in front of me, waving the lighter over the end of a cigar.
‘Don’t bother,’ she said, the cigar gripped in her teeth. She exhaled smoke into the blazing day. ‘It’s a crime scene now.’
I pushed past my partner and went into the dusty little house. Glass from the smashed television set had reached further than I realised. It crunched under my boots in the short tiled hall off the living room.
DeCasper was lying on the kitchen floor, his head sprayed all over the turquoise-painted lower cupboards, a small black revolver lying in the corner of the kitchen near some fallen cornflakes. There was a blue towel slowly turning purple with blood, making a dam at the edge of the kitchen, where the tiles met the carpet.
I went back out to Amanda, who was now sitting on the back steps, her shoulders slumped, the cigar trailing blue smoke.
‘What the fuck happened?’
‘It’s my fault,’ she sighed. ‘I thought he looked sad, I guess, but I didn’t really know. He was just sitting there shaking, not saying anything, as you walked out the front. I tried to think of something consoling to say, but I had nothing. I said, “You all right?” and he said, “No,” and I said, “I’m not surprised.”’
Amanda looked across the long, empty lawn. There were piles of dirt in the shade under the trees at the end of the property, lumps of damp wood. Someone might have been planning on putting in garden beds.
‘He said, “They’ll have to come again, won’t they? Ask more questions. Do another search. This doesn’t look good.” And I said, “You bet your arse it doesn’t look good.”’
I sighed. She went on.
‘He asked if he could have a drink of water. Said he felt sick. I said sure. What was I going to say? I ran this case for a woman in Holloways Beach a couple of years ago, before you started with me. Caught the guy cheating on his wife with his male business partner. He was so sick about the whole thing he yacked all over my shoes.’
‘Amanda.’
‘I was going to get DeCasper a water, but he got up and went into the kitchen. I went in too. I thought he was going to pull down a glass and fill it from the tap. Nope. He pulled down the gun instead and popped his own weasel. Didn’t even say goodbye.’
My hands were slick with sweat as I pulled out my phone.
‘Probably didn’t want to do it all again.’ Amanda puffed her cigar. ‘The questions. The arrest. The looks. It never ends. They’ll be rocking up to his nursing home in forty years’ time wanting to talk to him about every kid who goes missing from here to Brisbane.’
‘He must have been thinking about it already,’ I said. ‘He had the gun. He didn’t even hesitate.’
‘Meh,’ Amanda blew a smoke ring and poked a finger through it.
I called emergency services. They put me on hold.
‘How’d you know about the television set?’ I asked, cupping the receiver.
‘He sai
d he spent a lot of time watching television.’ She shrugged. ‘Why say that? It clearly wasn’t true. There was dust all over the remote control on the table beside the couch.’
‘There was dust all over everything,’ I said.
‘Shouldn’t have been, at least on the power button,’ she said. ‘The channel up and down and volume up and down buttons. And where’s the digital converter? Plus, when I went over there and stood near the set the guy got ants in his pants. Dead giveaway. Oh, snap. See what I did there? Dead.’ She snorted to herself.
The operator came back on the line and I requested police and an ambulance. Amanda smoked her cigar. DeCasper’s cigar.
‘Did you put that towel at the edge of the kitchen?’ I asked when the operator disconnected.
‘You didn’t see that carpet in there?’ She turned and looked indignantly at me. ‘Are you blind? That’s vintage shit, man. One hundred per cent polyester short-shag with a relaxed twist, avocado green. Someone’s going to cut that stuff into rugs and sell it to the hipsters for three hundred bucks a square metre.’
There was a police car in the driveway. There shouldn’t have been. I had only just disconnected the line to emergency services and walked along the side of the house with Amanda, a total of maybe three minutes. As we came into view of the two officers on the lawn, I felt something stir in Amanda, her stride stiffening.
The officers standing there were Joanna Fischer and her orange-haired goon. I was so surprised by their presence that I didn’t even notice that Amanda’s bike, which she’d parked at the top of the driveway, was lying on its side. She didn’t gasp or cry out with horror. My partner simply walked to the bike, ignoring Fischer and her friend, and picked the machine up. A piece of steel and some shards of mirrored glass fell from the bike and clattered on the concrete. The side mirror was broken.