The Good Teacher

by Petronella McGovern

  Dear God. A judge. Now she understood the need for secrecy. And why they’d assumed Allison was doing the stalking rather than him. Walking over to the sideboard for more red wine, Allison wondered if they’d both lose their jobs. In the fallout, could they patch up their relationship? The thought was quickly replaced by another: Do I still want to after he discarded our marriage so quickly?

  ‘Sorry, I’m going on and on.’ Tony looked up from the floor to her face. ‘I haven’t even asked about Chicago. Will there be a funeral for Gracie? How’s Luke doing?’

  ‘Oh, Tony. Settle yourself in. I’ve got so much to tell you.’

  Up late, talking to Tony over yet another glass of wine, trying to unravel Luke’s life, Allison realised how much she’d missed their discussions. For some reason, Tony thought he should’ve suspected Luke, but he’d only met the man once. The first threatening letter, though, had been on blue paper from her study, in her handwriting. Tony had recognised the paper and the handwriting. No wonder he’d assumed it was her; now, he was convinced that Luke had been responsible.

  Her family was back together in the house: Tony staying the night in the spare room, Felix in his own bedroom. It gave her a moment of peace.

  As Allison switched out the lights downstairs, a late-night text came through from Curtis. Short and to the point. Fletcher is still trying. No answer yet.

  The police had one lead—Movie World. Allison had a feeling that it would take years to track him down. Luke was too good at covering his tracks. In three months of living together, Gracie hadn’t dropped a single clue. Even when she’d talked about her mother. They probably weren’t going to Movie World; Luke would have primed Gracie to say that.

  After responding to Curtis’ text, she opened up Facebook. Perhaps Luke had replied to Maz’s message. Allison clicked on his name but nothing came up.

  Luke Branson’s Facebook page had disappeared.

  That was it—their last chance at contacting him. Gone.

  44

  LUKE

  Rather than putting ten thousand dollars in his fundraising account as Luke had requested, Fletcher Moncur wrote another message.

  Perhaps it would be better to meet in person so I can offer my donation in cash. You may contact me on the following number. As I mentioned, the publishing schedule is tight. I’m hoping to have you as one of Australia’s top ten masters.

  ‘I’m already a master, thanks very much, Fletch,’ Luke said aloud.

  No-one would be able to track the money—he’d moved the donations from the banking system entirely. The bank account set up with a false ID. Amazing what counterfeiters in China offered. A Medicare card, a Victorian driver’s licence. Neither particularly expensive. And now he was using a new set. Evan Wood. It would take a bit of getting used to but he practised saying it in front of the mirror. Evan. Maybe he’d shorten it to Van.

  Luke remained undecided about Fletcher Moncur. If this wasn’t a set-up, then Fletch was a greedy bastard, profiting off people like him. Not a bad idea, though, this book. Maybe Luke should write his own—cut out the middle man. Get the income directly. Or sell his life story to a filmmaker. More money there.

  Luke hadn’t found anything to link Fletcher to Wirriga. The journalist lived in the eastern suburbs on the other side of Sydney. Could he be working for a private investigator? Or the police?

  On Fletcher’s website, Luke checked the name of his book publisher. Dialling the number for publicity, Luke recalled what he knew of the financial journalist.

  ‘Good morning, my name’s Gordon Johns.’ Luke put on a posh English accent. ‘I’m a journalist visiting from London. I believe you publish my old colleague, Fletcher Moncur. We used to work on the Financial Times together.’

  ‘Fletcher? Oh yes, the business books.’ The female voice on the other end sounded very young. And keen to help, like Maz.

  ‘Dear old Fletcher told me he has a new book coming out soon. Sounds fascinating. I’m hoping to do a piece on it. I didn’t want to tell Fletch yet, just in case my rather erratic editor doesn’t agree.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘But I’m trying to schedule the story for our best chance. Can you tell me the title and the publication date, please?’

  ‘His business psychology book was released last year. Is that the one you mean?’

  ‘Ah, no. I thought he had another one coming out soon. He’s so prolific, old Fletch. Something to do with financial scams.’

  Luke could hear her flicking through some pages.

  ‘I’ve got the schedule for the next twelve months and we don’t have anything listed from Fletcher. I can check with his editor and get back to you?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll talk to him myself. I’m catching up with him next week. My mistake. I must’ve have misunderstood.’ A pause for effect. ‘Fletcher wouldn’t be publishing with another company, would he?’

  ‘No, we’ve published all his books.’

  Ha. Gotcha, Fletcher.

  Luke had read Maz’s message again and again. The words were definitely hers. She was always talking about inspiration and stepping outside the box. Create your own destiny, that was one of her favourites. She knew about his lies and she still loved him. He could be himself with her, just like with Gracie.

  Maz’s supplements. Luke couldn’t stop thinking about them. They were the future. All that medical knowledge he’d gained could be put to good use. A huge online business selling cures for everything. The modern-day snake oil, like that blog Curtis had written.

  He and Maz could lie low for a bit, enjoy the beach life, then market the shit out of their supplements.

  His supplements would offer to cure everything—Maz’s dad with his arthritis, Allison with her menopausal symptoms. The testimonials would almost write themselves. He’d reuse some of the scans and photos from the children’s hospital. Copy stuff from online—so many blogs and pictures detailing individual journeys through cancer and depression, heart problems, asthma and allergies. The cardiologist, Dr Colin Simmons, would come in handy. He’d been very obliging, giving Luke a letter of introduction to a colleague in Chicago. Luke could use that letterhead to falsify a medical recommendation about the efficiency—no, the efficacy, that was the word they used—of the supplements from a respected cardiologist.

  He’d need a web designer and an untraceable set-up. Possibly all in Colin’s name—Renowned cardiologist Dr Simmons founded the company when he saw the positive results of these supplements on his patients. Blood pressure, cholesterol and heart disease all saw improvements after a six-month trial. Dr Simmons has worked with other specialists to determine the best supplements for a range of conditions.

  Cool, this could be a thing. He’d change the spelling slightly—Dr Col Simons—so the website didn’t come up when real patients googled their doctor. Give it a year using Col Simon’s name then swap it to another doctor. And maybe combine supplements and diet and exercise. The plan he’d talked about with Maz.

  He could see Maz here with him, in the black bikini that showed off her taut figure. She loved the beach.

  Wait. A clean break, no trail of relationships—that was his rule. Was it too risky to hook up with her?

  But Maz was always so willing to please, in every possible way. She wanted to learn from him, the master. He’d be careful, as usual, but he knew Maz. She wasn’t smart enough to double-cross him. Her open face, her sweet innocence, would serve him well. Just like Gracie had.

  Hey babe, love to see you. Here’s my new number.

  45

  MAZ

  On Saturday morning, Maz led the schoolteacher into her small lounge room, embarrassed by what Allison would make of her tiny house.

  ‘Have a seat.’ Maz pointed at the floral couch that they’d had since forever.

  The sound of Dad’s snoring drifted from the bedroom. Mum had popped out to Nanna’s place. Dad was recovering well and Mum had started talking to Maz again. They were both hoping to get back to choir ne
xt Wednesday.

  ‘Luke’s taken down the Facebook page,’ Allison said. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  Maz hadn’t explained the plan over the phone—she wanted to discuss it in person. Curtis and Allison hadn’t been able to do it. The esteemed business journalist had failed. But Maz had succeeded.

  ‘I sent him a message and he answered,’ Maz announced. Still standing, with one hand on her hip, she looked down on the older woman. ‘I’m going to run away with him.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Allison was suddenly back on her feet, eye-to-eye with Maz. ‘After everything he’s done?’

  The teacher was supposed to be impressed, not treat her like an idiot.

  ‘I’m scamming the scammer,’ Maz said, slowly enough for her to understand. ‘Like you were trying to do.’

  As Maz talked her through the messages with Luke, the teacher eventually sat down again and smiled.

  ‘Well done.’ Allison clapped her hands together. ‘You appealed to his sense of superiority. He wants you to be his protégé.’

  Maz had considered going to see Luke by herself and then calling the cops when she knew where he was staying, but Luke wasn’t making that easy.

  ‘He wants to meet at a kids’ playground in Tweed Heads,’ Maz explained. ‘Somewhere out in the open.’

  ‘I guess he’s being cautious,’ Allison said, reaching for her large handbag and pulling out her mobile phone.

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘I’m calling the detective.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ Maz protested. ‘I told him I’m running away. If he sees anyone who looks like an officer, he’ll disappear into thin air again.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll wear plain clothes.’

  This was supposed to be Maz’s plan—she’d set it all up. But Allison was taking over and telling her what to do.

  ‘Luke’s smart. He’ll spot a copper at a hundred metres.’

  Turning the phone over in her hands, Allison seemed to be thinking it through.

  ‘So when do we call them in?’

  ‘When I’ve won his trust and I’m back in his hotel room.’

  ‘Really? Do you want to risk being alone with him?’ The teacher was studying her face. ‘Do you think you can carry it off?’

  ‘Of course.’

  If she was honest with herself, Maz wasn’t entirely sure. Hate and shame bubbled behind her quick smile, festered inside her toned bod. Would Luke see that instantly?

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Allison said. ‘I need to know if Gracie’s alive.’

  ‘But if Luke recognises you, he’ll be off in a shot.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll work out a plan.’

  Maz thought she’d already done that. And it didn’t include the schoolteacher tagging along. Although, deep down, Maz was terrified. Perhaps Allison could be useful. She’d said the police thought this wasn’t his first scam. They had no idea what else Luke was running from.

  Out of the tiny aeroplane window, Maz could see why the Gold Coast was called Surfers Paradise. Long white beaches stretching for miles, and empty of crowds at this time of year. Next to the sand, high-rise buildings soared, glass and metal reflecting the blue of the sea up into the sky. Unlike her classmates, Maz hadn’t been to the Gold Coast for schoolies, another trip she couldn’t afford. She’d been here once when she was little. Maz couldn’t remember the holiday but there were photos in the family album of her watching the dolphin show, being splashed by one of the tails. A little girl the same age as Gracie, with two happy, loving parents.

  In his last message, Luke promised to explain everything.

  I guess you’re wondering why I did this—things have been tough the past few years. Don’t think this is a glamorous life. You have to be prepared to work hard.

  He was already starting the lessons.

  The plane’s undercarriage made a groaning noise as the wheels came down for landing. Next to her, Allison seemed to be praying. The teacher reached for Maz’s wrist on the shared armrest and tightened her hands around it—almost like the Chinese burns that she and Kelli used to give each other.

  ‘It’s all good,’ Maz reassured the older woman.

  Maz hadn’t known about Allison’s fear of flying until they walked into Sydney airport. Then the teacher had become flustered, dropped her ticket on the floor and refused to go near any windows. Apparently, smaller planes were worse. Maz was stunned she’d made it to Chicago and back. For a moment, it stopped her from thinking about Luke.

  They were staying in an apartment hotel just south of the Gold Coast. Allison had booked it, said it was ‘mid-range’ but Maz was pretty impressed. From their room, she could look down to the blue pool straight below and out to a sparkling ocean. The view didn’t help settle the butterflies in her tummy, though. Now that they were here, Maz worried that Allison would wreck her plan. The teacher had a disguise, but was it good enough?

  ‘What do you think Luke is capable of?’ Maz asked.

  Even though another man had been charged with arson for the Hythorne bushfire, Maz couldn’t help but wonder if Luke was somehow involved. There must be a reason why he’d chosen that town. But if his wife hadn’t died in the fire, then what the hell had he done with her?

  ‘When Luke first moved in,’ Allison said, ‘Nadia joked that he didn’t look like an axe murderer. Now, I’m not so sure.’

  Her answer wasn’t very reassuring. How would Luke react if he discovered Maz was double-crossing him?

  Allison left the apartment to pick up some essentials for her disguise, and Maz flopped on the bed. She should’ve agreed to let Allison get the police involved.

  ‘I’ll see you at the playground,’ Allison had said as a parting comment. ‘Don’t get in a car with him.’

  They didn’t know if he had a car. The green Jeep—The only other thing I have in the world apart from Gracie—had been found in Newcastle, just north of Avoca. When the police checked the records, it was still registered to the guy who’d sold it to Luke back in January. He’d bought it in south Sydney, just before arriving in Wirriga. The Jeep had never been in the Victorian countryside.

  Last night, he’d texted Maz about the new supplements business. Got some great ideas. We’ll be marketing all over Oz. Can’t wait to get planning with you. It’ll be awesome!

  Reading the message, she’d realised that it wasn’t just about the money for him—Luke needed an adoring audience cheering him on. As the single father of a ‘sick’ child, he’d been hero-worshipped. He needed that attention.

  Where was the sick child now?

  Taking a deep breath, Maz stood up and stretched her body tall. Before heading out the door, she texted him a breezy message. Just arrived. So much hotter than Sydney. My kind of weather. This is the place to be! Can’t wait to see you, babe xxxx

  She walked the five blocks to the park. Luke wouldn’t expect her to arrive in a taxi; he knew she was saving her cash—what little she had left after donating to Gracie and repaying her clients. And the cost of the flight up here. Maz tried to banish the bitterness from her face by thinking about Dad. Dr Simmons said he was going to be okay. The doctor thought Maz might be fined for importing a prohibited substance—more money—but that was way better than jail. Did Luke have any idea what it was like to actually sit by the bedside of a loved one, terrified that they might die? Did he understand the fear of death? Trying to resuscitate an overweight man on the floor of the gym and failing? He’d cruelly created the dread of Gracie dying. Manipulated their emotions. Fuck him.

  Together with Allison, she’d studied the map and photos of the park and the playground. The amount of information on the internet was incredible. That must’ve been how Luke got images from Chicago: copied everything from the web and photoshopped in Gracie. When Maz walked along the edge of the park, she almost felt like she’d been here before—everything just as it was in the photos online. The expanse of grass going down to the river, the playground in the middle, a b
oat ramp at the end of the car park, trees and a wooden bridge up the end. She could hear the buzz of the four-lane Pacific Highway. Plenty of escape routes for Luke.

  No-one knew she was here, apart from Allison.

  Mum and Dad thought she was staying overnight with Em-Jay. She’d asked Nico for a few days off work and he’d agreed immediately. The gym owner had been trying to contact Luke to offer his support and set a date for the picnic.

  ‘He’s shut his website, Facebook, phone—everything,’ Maz told him. ‘He’s in a really bad way but I’ll tell him that you’re thinking of him. He’ll appreciate it.’

  People at the gym were still asking about Luke but they’d been distracted by the rugby league. The Manly Sea Eagles had a big game at Brookvale Oval tonight—the team needed a win.

  But regardless of whether Maz succeeded, everyone would learn of Luke’s deception tomorrow, Monday, when the police launched a public appeal.

  Maz set off along one of the winding footpaths towards the playground, legs shaking with each step. If she were instructing her Power Hard class, what would she tell them? You can do this, you’ve got it. Go hard or go home. And what would Luke say, if he knew? Believe you deserve it and the universe will serve it. To Maz, that motto always sounded too demanding, too expectant. She preferred Create your own destiny. That was what she was doing.

  Her destiny. His destiny. She stopped and scanned the park, straining to catch sight of him.

  What if he’d seen through her ruse and hadn’t come?

  Or what if he was watching her?

  With a deliberate toss of her ponytail, Maz started walking again, more slowly this time.

  And then she saw him.

  Casually perched on the back of a bench, his body balanced on the top, feet on the seat. Legs wide apart. Wearing a white cap with the words Gold Coast Marathon. Not hiding or skulking or keeping a low profile. Cool as a cucumber, he stood up on the bench and waved both arms.

  Act natural, she told herself. Break into a grin. Run towards him. Flipping hell, she’d never been a good liar.