The Good Teacher

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘Have you heard something?’

  The girl always reminded her of a Labrador pup, bouncy and excitable, desperate for a pat and a rub. Had Luke been the one giving her attention, giving her orders, and now he’d let her off the leash to fend for herself?

  ‘I haven’t heard from Luke but we found out …’ Allison looked around at all the customers in the cafe. ‘Can we talk somewhere quieter?’

  Maz led her to the little patio—the tables were empty; too cold to eat outside today. Without explanation, Allison took out her phone and opened it up to the fundraising page for Hannah Bennett.

  ‘The poor woman. Ovarian cancer,’ Maz tutted. ‘Wait, that’s me!’

  ‘Did you know about this? Did you set it up with Luke?’

  ‘NO!’

  ‘Was he paying you part of the profits?’

  ‘No … but he did give me some money.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The herbal pills. I offered them for free but he insisted on paying.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I tried not to take it. Honestly. We were all saving for Gracie.’

  Allison believed the girl. Her face seemed incapable of telling a lie.

  ‘How much?’ Allison repeated.

  ‘A hundred dollars.’

  Oh God, this poor girl. Allison had thought she was going to say twenty thousand dollars. Leaning across the cold metal table, she took Maz’s hands in her own. They were warm, much warmer than she’d expected.

  ‘He had twelve other fundraising pages. All fake.’ Allison gazed at the innocent girl. ‘I think he was setting you up to take the fall for him.’

  Maz wrenched her hands out of Allison’s grasp. Glared at her. Then her face collapsed.

  ‘I thought he loved me,’ she whimpered. ‘He just used me.’

  ‘He used all of us.’

  Maz’s body and passion. Allison’s kindness and reputation. Curtis’ job. The school principal’s standing in the community.

  And Gracie herself, of course. Gracie was a cash cow, a sympathy grabber, an enabler for his lifestyle. He needed his daughter to open doors to mothers and families. But perhaps all the publicity generated by Allison had been too much.

  In reaching out to the community to raise funds, had Allison put Gracie’s life in danger?

  At home, alone in her big house, Allison didn’t know what to do with the anger coursing through her body. It made concentrating on one thought or one task impossible. Perth or the Gold Coast—those were the two places that Maz felt Luke might be. Opposite sides of the country. From her bedroom window, Allison could see the pool. Dead brown leaves dotted the base. The creepy crawler wasn’t working again. I’ll ask Luke to fix it. The thought came before she could censor it.

  At some point soon, she’d have to go into school and tell the principal. With Gracie Day, Declan had bent the rules. And Allison had run with it—taking the fundraising to another level. Getting the Northern Beaches News involved. Would they both be sacked for misconduct when they’d only been trying to help?

  She’d given Luke and Gracie everything.

  Her house.

  Her money.

  Her love.

  Shona had warned against taking them in, called her ‘a fecking bampot’ for being too kind-hearted.

  ‘But if we don’t look after them,’ Allison had said, ‘then what sort of people does that make us?’

  It had seemed that Luke and Gracie were alone in the world without a safety net of family.

  Or was there a mother waiting in another town? Forcing her child to go out and do three months’ work, whipping up cash? The cruelty of it made Allison’s eyes sting.

  The shame of it drove her into the shower, to wash herself clean.

  Detective Sergeant Rejman had asked for everything she could remember. Allison started writing in an exercise book, filling fourteen pages with notes. She took the photos of Gracie off the fridge and laid them out on the dining table next to the book. Worked through her memories; a quicksand of stories which couldn’t be trusted.

  His parents in Perth. Training for the Olympics. Backpacking in Peru. Trekking in Nepal. Living in London for a few years. Meeting Sarah in Melbourne. Moving to Hythorne. Horses and a country lifestyle. His grief after his wife’s death. The hurt caused by Sarah’s family.

  How could they separate the lies from any grain of truth?

  She wrote down the definite fabrications: Dr Rawson, the chemotherapy, Dr Mercado, the clinical trial.

  Other children were really going through it—cancer and chemo, surgery and radiation. The pain, the heartbreak and the cost of last-option treatments. They needed the community’s love and support and money.

  Not Luke.

  He’d faked it and taken all that from Wirriga.

  Their cash, their kindness, their trust.

  Detective Sergeant Rejman had printed out a list and asked Allison to look through it.

  ‘These are the characteristics of con artists. Can you tick which ones apply to Luke Branson?’

  Confident.

  Builds rapport quickly with their mark.

  Puts the victim at ease by revealing his own failings.

  Plays on the emotions.

  Inspires trust.

  Dresses the part.

  Reads people and responds to their needs.

  As she read down the list, Allison had ticked them all.

  ‘A lot of con men—and women—get away with it,’ the detective had said, ‘Because their victims are so embarrassed about being taken in. They don’t report it.’

  He’d then asked Allison about her own personal situation.

  ‘Is that relevant?’ she snapped.

  ‘Con men often target people going through a life change. When they’re at their most vulnerable.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ She was hesitant about sharing the details of her marriage break-up. ‘I’ve always helped people. It’s what I do.’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t get quite so involved before?’

  The detective was right. She’d refused to lend money to the Japanese exchange student; she’d given the school family four weeks to find another place to live while their house was being fixed. She’d set boundaries.

  But for Gracie, she’d been all in.

  Curtis sent through an email with an article attached. One paragraph stood out to Allison: If the con artist does his job properly, you’ll be the one doing most of the persuading yourself. He manipulates you to the point where you are deceiving yourself.

  At the bottom of the article, it said: Ironically, con men are sometimes the easiest to scam because their confidence makes them believe they are impenetrable.

  Curtis had typed a query before signing off: Should we go for a vigilante approach—splash his face across the internet? Or should we try to scam the scammer?

  40

  MAZ

  Dad was finally home from hospital, with a heart monitor strapped to his chest for the next twenty-four hours and instructions to take it easy. His toxicology report showed nothing unusual but the doctor had sent the pills off for analysis and expected a result next week.

  Over the past two days, Maz had cleaned the house, been shopping, prepared some dinners and changed the sheets on her parents’ bed.

  ‘Thanks, love, that bed looks much comfier than the hospital one.’ Dad gave her a hug.

  Mum had told Kelli about the possible link between the diet pills and Dad’s episode; now, Kelli wasn’t speaking to Maz. Mum was barely speaking to anyone. Her cheeks were almost as grey as Dad’s had been; they’d be admitting her to hospital next. Maz couldn’t bear to see her mother like this. And it was all her fault.

  No wonder Luke had gone crazy after his wife had died so tragically last year. If Dad died, their family would never be the same again. Out of kilter. All wrong.

  Flipping hell, Luke’s wife hadn’t died in the Hythorne fire. Every time she thought about Luke, she had to untangle the lies. Maz had washe
d her own sheets, drowned the last remaining hint of Luke’s aftershave in hot water and detergent. Had he loved her at all? Her first grown-up relationship, one that she’d expected to go on for years and years. They’d had chemistry, sexually and mentally.

  Or so she’d thought.

  While Maz had shut down her Bio-Antidotes website, she hadn’t done anything with the rest of the stock. Supplements she’d ordered for existing clients were still hidden in the top of her wardrobe. Reaching up, she found the containers. Took the whole box and dumped it in the bin outside. Farewell to that crap.

  Allison had called and instructed her not to tell anyone yet about Luke’s deception.

  ‘Curtis and I are working on a plan with the police,’ the teacher said. ‘Come over tonight.’

  Now she had to lie while everyone was asking about Luke. When will he be back? When’s the picnic? When’s the funeral?

  Everyone cared.

  At Allison’s house, Maz took the proffered glass of wine. All of this shit was turning her into a drinker. Curtis had arrived before her. They were talking about how a detective had been assigned to the case.

  ‘The police are assessing when they’ll do a public appeal,’ Allison said. ‘So we’ve only got a short window for this to work.’

  After Allison had explained the idea, Maz didn’t know what to think.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Luke’s really smart.’

  ‘It’ll appeal to his ego. That huge ego of his.’ Curtis held out his arms in the shape of a giant beach ball. ‘That’s exactly why he’ll fall for it.’

  They’d roped in another journalist, an older guy who had inspired Curtis in his choice of career. While he knew Curtis’ dad, there were no connections between him and Curtis online.

  ‘That’s important,’ Allison said. ‘You know he’ll check it inside and out. The story has to be watertight.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ Maz asked.

  ‘Can you put some more posts on Facebook? Pretend you still believe him. Something loving. Make it sound like I haven’t told anyone about Chicago.’

  Maz did it straight away. At the bottom of the last post, she composed a comment. Babe, I’m so worried about you. Please call. I know you’re hurting something bad. Love you always xx

  Copying and pasting, she put the same post on Messenger.

  ‘Great.’ Curtis gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Now we can get Fletcher to do his stuff.’

  After Curtis had made his phone call, Allison produced the book in which she was writing down Luke’s stories. Maz flipped through the pages.

  ‘He must’ve said something that was true,’ Curtis said. ‘It can’t all be made up.’

  Maz had believed that his love for her was true. And his love for Gracie.

  ‘Maybe we should try and work out why he did it.’ Maz refilled her glass of wine. ‘Has he gone bankrupt? Does he need money?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s that type of fraudster,’ Curtis said. ‘This wasn’t just about money. He wanted the attention. And he wanted to trick people, right in their own houses. He’s morally bankrupt.’

  While Curtis was reading through Allison’s book, Maz went to the kitchen on the pretext of making tea. She put the kettle on, got out the mugs and opened the Messenger app.

  Babe, it’s absolute hell here. I think I’m going to jail—the appetite suppressants put Dad in hospital. I know you lied about some stuff but I still love you. Now I’m on the wrong side of the law, I can’t stay here. Please can I come with you? We’re so good together. You’re an inspiration to me, stepping outside the box, creating your own destiny. You’re so clever, you can teach me things. Love you xx

  Maz glanced through the door to the lounge room, double-checking that the others were still engrossed in the exercise book. She pressed send, then made three cups of tea.

  ‘How long do we have for Luke to take the bait?’ Allison asked Curtis. ‘I have to tell the school principal soon.’

  ‘The detective is giving us forty-eight hours. Fletcher is saying he’s on a publishing deadline so he needs a fast answer.’

  ‘A deadline.’ Allison snorted. ‘That’s what all the best scammers do. It’s what Luke did to us—a deadline to get the money for Chicago.’

  The front door banged and Felix appeared from the hallway, a backpack slung over his shoulder, airpods in. He sank into the chair opposite his mother and dropped his bag on the floor.

  ‘How was your day?’ His mother reached out to pat his leg.

  ‘You’ll never believe it.’ Felix’s words came out in a rush. ‘Helena has left Dad.’

  41

  LUKE

  Ally had made it so easy and comfortable for Luke to stay in Wirriga. She’d opened her house to him. Encouraged people to donate. Made his bank account grow bigger day by day. And then he’d seen another opportunity—the marriage break-up. If she sold the house, Allison would suddenly have a spare five hundred thousand in the bank. Lots of cash for someone like him to help ‘invest’.

  He simply took Allison’s stalking one step further. The campaign was supposed to put a rocket up Tony and make him move fast. The letters in her handwriting, driving her car by Tony’s place, phone calls and hang-ups from her home phone.

  Tony had been too fucking nice about it all. ‘I know you’re having a hard time, Allison. You should see a psychologist.’

  Seriously? Man, grow a pair. If your ex is stalking you, retaliate as fast as possible.

  Luke kept waiting but then Tony had agreed not to sell while Gracie was living in the house. That didn’t help anyone. The whole point was to access the cash from the asset.

  Tony deserved that last letter to keep him looking over his shoulder. If only Tony had followed through on his original threat to offload the house, then none of the stalking would’ve been necessary. It would’ve saved Luke a whole lot of time and effort. Later, when he checked Ally’s phone, he’d seen some messages about Tony wanting to sell. The stalking had been effective but then Ally had created a catch-22 for them all—wanting to keep the house as a safe place for Gracie to live and needing the money for the treatment. When she’d finally made the offer to sell and loan him the money, it was too late. Luke’s escape plans were in place.

  The journalist, though, was far easier to manipulate. Luke had seen the lust in his eyes—and used it. Curtis’ articles had helped bring in the cash; his blog posts made Luke’s research more readable and legit. All along, Luke had been wondering if Curtis would take his research deeper and come up against an inconsistency. But Dr Rawson’s online presence had stood up to scrutiny. Would the journalist respond furiously, like a lover scorned? Or remain quiet, like Ally, worried for his career? The hoodwinked reporter—the most damaging story in town.

  If the school principal found out, he’d be straight down to the coppers. That was part of the reason they had to leave: Declan was relentless with the medical questions. All those heart-to-heart chats in his office; Luke had to break down in tears to avoid answering. The research was getting harder and harder, and Luke was losing track of his explanations. He’d considered giving Gracie a miraculous cure so he could enjoy the lifestyle a little longer, but the principal would have cottoned on.

  If Ally hadn’t followed him to America, it all would’ve held. He’d laid enough groundwork. She was the reason he’d decided on Chicago—Luke could ‘die’ there along with Gracie and no-one would follow up. But Ally was too bloody kind for her own good; overcame her fear of a long-haul flight to be with him. He reckoned she’d be crying alone in her big house now; another humiliation from another man. Too ashamed to talk to the police.

  He’d conned them all: the solicitor, the journalist, the teacher, the principal. The entire school community—doctors, accountants, designers, architects, stockbrokers. All those people who thought they were smarter than him, a mere gym instructor. The way they treated him, as if he didn’t have a brain. They deserved to be parted with their money.

&nb
sp; Waiting to see if it would come out, he’d set up a google news alert for ‘Luke Branson’. At night, he imagined the headlines. CON MAN SCAMS COMMUNITY. Luke Branson—a cool name to immortalise. Strong and powerful.

  If the police got involved, would they try and track his movements from the airport? At that bland airport hotel, he’d checked in with a different name and dressed Gracie as a boy in black jeans and a red baseball cap. It was in the hotel that he’d noticed how fast her hair was growing since he’d stopped shaving it.

  He’d enjoyed the comfortable house in Wirriga and the gym and the childcare and the sex. But it was time to wrap up the loose ends. He’d closed down the website but the Facebook page was still online, bringing in a few donations. He clicked on the page—a sweet comment from Maz. That girl really adored him.

  And a message from a stranger. He’d had plenty of those, wishing them well, giving advice for Gracie’s treatments, offering support. Two women had suggested he come over for some ‘time out’ and to ‘relax his body’; unfortunately, they both lived in distant towns. Thanks to Curtis’ news stories and Ally’s connections, his fundraising had reached far and wide. This new message was nothing like that, though.

  Dear Luke,

  My name is Fletcher Moncur and I’m a financial journalist. I’ve worked with all the major Australian newspapers and a few in the UK. You may have seen my segment on Channel 7. I’ve also written a number of books. I’ve been following the story of your little girl, Gracie. It’s difficult to write this message delicately so please let me apologise in advance if I cause you upset. There are some things about your story that felt a little odd. Nothing factual, more to do with ‘a feeling’, the journalist’s nose, so to speak. If I’m off track here, please accept my deepest sympathies.

  However, if my old nose is serving me correctly, then I would be interested in interviewing you for my next book. It’s a compilation of the top ten financial cons in Australia. I’m focusing on ‘the ones that got away’—the unknown, undiscovered scams. Obviously, I will ensure anonymity, as I have done with the other individuals. I can offer you $10,000 for your story.