The Fourth Season

by Dorothy Johnston

  ‘Lovely,’ I commented. ‘You picked Robben as a liar from the start?’

  ‘More or less.’ Brook sighed. ‘But his alibis will hold, and he had no need to kill the girl. He did what he wanted, had sex with her then told her to get lost.’

  When Brook had asked about Sanderson meeting Laila at the Tradies, Robben claimed not to know anything about it.

  ‘But Sanderson knew about the affair?’

  ‘I’d say, if not beforehand, he worked it out that day at Jindabyne.’

  When Brook put it to Robben that he hadn’t formally broken off the affair, and that Laila had turned up at the boat ramp for a showdown, Robben had looked blankly innocent, and said he didn’t know what Brook was talking about. Brook had lost patience then, and told Robben that his wife finding out he’d been having an affair with a murder victim was the least of his worries.

  ‘Maybe Laila discovered something on Robben’s boat that day,’ I said. ‘Perhaps she heard the three men talking, perhaps there were charts or notes. She found out that they planned to go sailing in Bass Strait, and possibly to make West Cove their base. She may have told them about the Maria Rosa. She may simply have asked Cameron to take her with them, without saying why. Cameron refused, but Laila wasn’t the kind of girl to take no for an answer. She may not have heard of the Lightning before that afternoon, but after it she made it her business to find out as much as she could.’

  I recalled Bill Abenay’s words. ‘That was why Laila was in such a good mood when she got back to the cottage,’ I went on, trying not to let Brook’s sceptical expression interrupt my train of thought. ‘She jumped out of Robben’s boat once she got the information she wanted, or as much as she thought she was going to get. Or else one of them, Cameron possibly, threatened her, and she jumped overboard.’

  Laila’s story of falling in the water had never been believable, rather a fiction concocted on the spot for a besotted middle-aged admirer. When I’d been in Bill Abenay’s company, watching and listening to him, the mantle had partly fallen away, and I’d seen a man who was not so ego-bound as to be taken in, but who had willed himself into this position as a kind of loyalty. On the other hand, I couldn’t discount the possibility that Bill had lied to me from the beginning. I thought of the game Laila had played with him as different from the ones she habitually played with men. Rather than being fooled into believing he was sought after, or desired in any way, Abenay had taken his pleasure from observing the folly of others, and had seen more—this had been part of the pleasure—than he had let on.

  In Laila’s courting of her men were hidden clues as to which one of them had killed her. But there were too many men, and the one I was sure was guilty had an alibi. I told myself that each day that passed without further threat to Katya was a bonus.

  . . .

  It was almost dark when I opened my front door a fraction in answer to a knock. The screen door was locked and the chain securely in place. Through thick mesh, I saw in shadow, and as though the mesh was growing on it, Don Fletcher’s haggard face.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked him, hoping that neither Kat nor Peter would appear.

  I’d phoned Don to tell him I could not continue working for him, and sent a final invoice, which hadn’t yet been paid. Don had been aggrieved and had argued with me on the phone, but had finally accepted that my mind was made up.

  Don opened and shut his mouth on the other side of the screen door. He seemed on the point of explaining something, then he shook his head.

  ‘Tell your brother to stay away from my family,’ I said.

  . . .

  When I rang Brook to tell him, Brook said sharply, ‘You’re out of the equation now.’

  I wished I could believe it. I knew that Brook was ashamed of his inability to offer my children better protection.

  Next day, when he called in, Brook was gentle and stern with me by turns, his eyes opaque, his few centimetres of hair standing on end when he rubbed it absent-mindedly.

  I counted in his face the years since Katya had been born, and those before, when he’d tried, in his quiet, persistent way, to convince me that the line of work I’d chosen was incompatible with motherhood. It had been more than an intellectual conviction, a weighing up of risks: it had been heartfelt. Everything that Brook believed to be good and worthwhile in life was repulsed by foolhardy risk. Perhaps this revulsion had begun when his leukemia was diagnosed; perhaps earlier, before either of us had known of its existence.

  I sensed a deeper weariness in Brook as well, caused by the leukemia itself, and the way he’d driven himself when he could have given up his job, opening himself to whatever small pleasures his time on earth had left to offer, learning to treat each one as a gift. I knew that this was what Sophie wanted him to do. Yet partly out of fear of stopping, partly out of a stubbornness he would not acknowledge, Brook had gone on, and the pressures of others, Brideson included, only strengthened his will not to give in until he absolutely had to.

  The thought of Sophie was a constant, gentle undercurrent, a reminder that Brook had an emotional life that excluded both me and my children. Sophie was not the sort of woman to nag; she was too intelligent for that; but I had no doubt that she wanted Brook to resign, that she hadn’t wanted him to take on this case.

  I wondered whether Brook had asked Sophie to marry him, or whether he was working his way up to it, and worried that she would refuse. I knew there’d been times when Brook wished Katya was his daughter, and believed that Ivan had done nothing to deserve her.

  Brook began talking about Laila. He said that Laila probably felt confident meeting a man in a relatively isolated spot, that she probably felt confident of her ability to handle men in any situation. I agreed.

  ‘Laila may have screamed. She didn’t try and fight her killer off. Bronwyn Castle’s car was left unlocked, with the keys in the ignition.’

  ‘What about tyre marks in the carpark?’ I asked.

  ‘Too many to be useful.’

  Brook had his own ways of interviewing men like Cameron, based on the realisation that they loved to talk about themselves. His strategy had been to give Cameron so much rope he’d hang himself. It hadn’t worked. Cameron had remained perfectly relaxed throughout the interviews, and had not put a foot wrong.

  ‘He had to get Sanderson through the fence at Dickson Pool,’ I said. ‘What about his clothes.’

  ‘He burnt them, or got rid of them some other way. No leads there.’

  The way Brook spoke made it clear he didn’t think any leads would be forthcoming.

  Cameron had handed over his diving gear to the police without fuss or apparent anxiety, and confirmed, in answer to Brook’s question, that he only owned one weight belt. He’d appeared willing, if not keen, to talk about that Sunday at Lake Jindabyne, and to portray Bernhard Robben in a less than flattering light. ‘Happy to get the boot in,’ was Brook’s phrase.

  Cameron had understood that something was going on between Robben and ‘that unfortunate girl’, but he’d seen no reason to contact the police about it. Brook got him to admit that Laila had gone with them on the boat. She’d insisted, and Robben had taken her to avoid a scene. They’d argued and she’d jumped out. No, he didn’t know what the argument was about. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t wanted to know. ‘A lover’s tiff,’ he’d offered with what Brook described as undisguised contempt.

  Cameron had never been married, and had no steady girlfriend. He claimed never to have set eyes on Laila before that day, or to have seen or spoken to her since. When Brook raised the subject of the Maria Rosa, he reacted with surprise. He may have heard of such a boat—a Spanish pirate boat laden with treasure from South America? He might have heard about it some time on his travels. Interesting, but he was afraid he knew no details. Neither Sanderson nor Robben had mentioned the shipwreck in his hearing, and it had certainly never been suggested that they go looking for it in the Lightning. Cameron had found the idea amusing and had laughed aloud. When
asked about the dive school at Merimbula, he said he visited from time to time, and described himself as a ‘moderately competent amateur.’ As to his shops, he preferred to hire good, intelligent staff and leave the day-to-day running up to them. It was an unfortunate oversight that that photo of Laila had been left up on the website ‘but not a major crime’. As to how he’d got started in the business, he’d seen an opening and gone for it. ‘A lot of Canberrans want to learn to dive and will pay well for the opportunity.’

  As to his brother, they’d always been close. Of course, Don had told him about Laila and how she’d ruined his career. Her death was a tragedy, and Ben Sanderson’s as well. There was a lunatic out there and the sooner he was behind bars the better.

  ‘He preens,’ Brook said. ‘Even when he’s talking about murder, he has that gloss on him—look how great I am.’

  But Cameron’s alibis for both murders remained solid.

  He’d promised to take Sanderson and Robben out in the Lightning in return for the homestead dive, and he never went back on a promise. They’d spent a few days in Bass Strait and had called in at West Cove. The weather had been ‘a bit rough to start with, but fine after that.’

  ‘You should go some time, Detective Sergeant. The old Bulli’s sitting upright at the bottom. Just twenty metres down. And the water’s crystal clear.’

  I smiled, listening to Brook’s voice going up and down as he mimicked Cameron’s. I’d told Brook, in times past, in better times, that he’d missed his calling and should have been an actor.

  He frowned, in response to my smile, possibly reminding himself that he was talking too much. I wanted to tell him anything he said was safe with me, but knew how ludicrous it would sound.

  As far as the Sea Wizard was concerned, once they’d been cleared by customs, there was no restriction on fraternising with the natives.

  ‘They could have been in each other’s boxer shorts all weekend. There’s no law against it. And you know, drugs don’t come to Australia from New Zealand.’

  I told Brook there was always a first time.

  ‘Are you saying the Fanshaw girl didn’t know about the Lightning bringing drugs? Assuming for a moment that there were drugs, which I think is most unlikely.’

  Strange that it was Brook putting it like that that made the connection clear.

  I thought for a moment, then I said, ‘Laila may have found out at the end. It may have been the reason she was killed. What I think it’s fair to assume is that once she found out about the trip to West Cove she was determined to be included.’

  ‘What about Sanderson? Why was he killed?’

  ‘For greed, perhaps. To cut him out of his share of the money? Because he took Laila’s side? Cameron could have been keeping a number of options open. But he underestimated Laila’s determination, and she over estimated her persuasive abilities. Perhaps she’d never been alone with him before. Perhaps she’d never turned her beam on him. It hadn’t failed her so far.’ I paused a moment, then continued. ‘My guess is that Cameron’s a narcissist. Why hang around the internet cafe? Why follow me at Jindabyne? He wants to be noticed. “Look at me”, he’s saying. “I’ve got alibis you’ll never break. I can always stay one jump ahead.”’

  ‘And Don?’

  ‘Acting under orders, I would say.’

  Brook’s nod told me he’d already come to this conclusion. ‘Then Cameron must have something over him,’ he said.

  . . .

  That night, Brook rang with some more news. He’d been speaking to a member of the Geelong Yacht Club who knew Cameron well, and who’d watched the three set out on their sailing trip. The weather forecast hadn’t been good, but Fletcher had said he’d ‘take his chances with a bit of weather.’ They’d cast off around six in the morning to catch the ebb tide through the heads.

  ‘They had to sail out through the Rip,’ Brook said. ‘It’s a treacherous bit of water. Port Phillip Bay creates a bottleneck. The ebb tide with a wind behind it can take you half way to Tasmania before you can say whoa there.’

  Brook had put in a request for information to the National Surveillance Centre; he summarised the results.

  The Lightning had been sighted by a Coastwatch Dash 8 at 0905 on the morning of 12 February. Radio contact was made on the VHF open channel. The Lightning’s skipper was asked for his boat’s registration details, where he’d embarked from, and the number of people on board. All of these questions were answered, plus his destination, which he gave as Erith Island. They discussed the weather report. The mean wind speed over open water was forty knots and rising. Wave height was four to five metres, but the Lightning continued on its course.

  ‘The Dash 8 kept track of them,’ Brook said. ‘They made it to West Cove, but only just. They were advised to turn back, but Cameron ignored the advice. There are three community marine stations that cover Bass Strait. They take position reports and give regular weather updates. The Lightning radioed them at—let me just find that—seven minutes to ten on the Saturday morning. They were advised to return to Port Phillip Bay.’

  ‘Cameron had to make the rendezvous,’ I said.

  ‘If drug smuggling was that easy, those islands would be crawling with couriers masquerading as yachties.’

  ‘Our lot weren’t masquerading. They are yachties, or Cameron is at least. And they were amateur couriers, if, as you say, they were couriers at all. Does Coastwatch monitor radio conversations?’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, no.’

  ‘And under abnormal?’

  Brook said, ‘Nothing between the Sea Wizard and the Lightning.’

  ‘What Laila thought is important too.’

  ‘I was coming to that. She rang the yacht club, and asked all sorts of questions. The guy she spoke to didn’t pass on Fletcher’s sailing details. He didn’t know them, for a start. And he told me he wouldn’t have, in any case, not to a stranger.’

  ‘Laila may have talked to someone else. She may even have turned up at the marina.’

  Brook said suddenly, ‘I’ve got to go.’

  I sat in my office and thought. Pete and Katya were in bed, and Ivan watching television. Laila had been a diving enthusiast with a particular interest in shipwrecks. She was living in an inland city on a student’s income. She pursued her interest where she could, and when she could afford to, including a weekend course at Merimbula, where she met Sanderson and Robben. She was attracted to both these men because they were professional divers and because she had already begun to imagine—and more than imagine—a fantastic diving opportunity. Laila was used to pulling men. She did it effortlessly. She was used to getting what she wanted from them, and what she wanted from these two was a chance to dive in circumstances that presented a big challenge to professionals. I thought again about her dispute with Abenay that morning at Lake Jindabyne, and wondered if Laila had been telling the truth after all, or more of the truth than I’d given her credit for. She had wanted to dive the homestead on her own. She wanted to prove that she could do it, and had planned to present Robben with the fact. Instead, she’d argued with Abenay and when she found Robben, he had company—not just Sanderson, but Cameron Fletcher too. She’d gone to work on all three men once she discovered that Fletcher planned to take the two divers to visit some of the islands in the Strait.

  Up until the morning the Lightning set out from Geelong, Laila might well have believed they’d take her with them. She might also have learnt that the Sea Wizard had fetched up at West Cove, and figured that, if the Lightning got her that far, she could talk her way onto the dive boat.

  Robben couldn’t shake her off. Sanderson had a go at placating her, maybe offering her a consolation prize, but she didn’t want it. Fletcher’s real reason for meeting the Sea Wizard was too important to let some upstart girl interfere.

  Laila was furious when she discovered that they’d gone without her, but Cameron often sailed out into the Strait and visited the islands. Next time, Laila determined that she woul
d be on board.

  What did the two murders have in common? A certain theatricality, for one thing. Ben Sanderson had been a professional diver, at home in the water. So what does his murderer do? Dumps him in a pool. He wasn’t killed there, so why do it? What was Cameron demonstrating? Cruelty and malice. He was showing someone that he had a flair for it: Bernhard Robben, to keep him in line; his drug mates, whoever they were; and his brother—don’t forget his brother Don.

  I wondered if Cameron had kept Ben Sanderson’s share of the money, perhaps as a punishment for telling Laila too much. I recalled Jess’s description of the couple in the tram. It didn’t sound like a man getting rid of a girl who was being a nuisance. There’d been Laila’s tears, turned on for extra persuasion. Cameron would have been angry when he heard about that.

  Three more days went by. Brook rang in the afternoons, but with nothing more to tell me. Cameron’s name did not come up in connection with any drug networks—neither with the heroin trade, nor the ice brought down from factories in Fiji. I began to doubt my theory.

  The Fiji connection was the most likely, given the Sea Wizard’s route, yet unless some real evidence turned up, or one of the three confessed, there did not seem to be any way to prove it. Robben must have felt confident that it didn’t matter if he was seen with Sanderson and Cameron Fletcher. He had photographs of them in his shop, and the Lightning too. Perhaps he reasoned that it looked more innocent that way. If the Lightning’s name ever came up in connection with a drug rendezvous, Robben would not deny knowing its owner. Instead, he would describe Cameron as a rich man who liked to scuba dive and who took him sailing in Bass Strait.

  The main problem was always going to be getting the drugs into Australian waters, but that wasn’t something Robben, or even Cameron, need worry about. Indeed, it would be unlikely they’d be told what methods were used. It wouldn’t be the Sea Wizard every time. In the first instance, Cameron might have been approached by a yachting buddy, seduced by the amount of money he stood to make on a single run. And Cameron being what he seemed to be, a recreational yachtsman taking his friends out for a few days’ sailing, was basic to the plan. The arrangement might have worked, and gone on working, if it hadn’t been for Laila and the Maria Rosa.