Second Sight

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘Want it back, Aaron?’ a small toothpick of a boy asks.

  Aaron slowly nods and the kid speeds over and then chucks it to him.

  ‘Thanks, Charlie,’ Aaron calls, and then as an afterthought, ‘Tell your brother he better be at school tomorrow. No more wagging or he’s off the team.’

  ‘He’s been real crook,’ Charlie says, but gives a wicked laugh.

  ‘I’ll kick him off. Serious,’ says Aaron.

  Charlie flashes a freckled-faced grin and then a thumbs up.

  ‘We trusted Mick,’ Aaron says, turning back to me.

  ‘Unfortunately, he can’t give us an explanation,’ I say. The fact Dad missed something as big as this bothers me too.

  ‘Still unconscious?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘He did help,’ Aaron concedes. ‘I’m not saying he didn’t. Got me a job coaching basketball down at the Police Boys’ Club and when the club cleaner job came up, he gave it to me. Mum couldn’t work much then and the money was good. Afterwards, I found out he was topping up my wages out of his own pocket. He didn’t have to do any of that.’

  That makes me pause. How could Dad afford it? There were my boarding school fees as well. Police are never paid enough. I started earning more than my father within a couple of years working as a lawyer.

  ‘Why should we trust the police to find out what happened to her now,’ Aaron continues, ‘when they got it wrong twenty years ago?’

  ‘You need to put public pressure on them,’ I say. ‘Talk to the media. There’s lots of interest in those bones already.’ Hunting through my handbag, I find the card from Stella. ‘She works at the local newspaper. You could try her.’

  Aaron takes the card and studies it. His face is creased with worry lines. I feel like I’ve taken a chisel to him and carved them there myself.

  ‘Was it right that I told you?’ I don’t even mean to say this aloud but it almost falls out of my mouth.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Aaron. ‘I really don’t know.’

  22

  An enormous pink Janey Bayless is rakishly parked in front of Emerald Coast Homes, the words ‘She’ll Get It Done’ emblazoned underneath. The banner sits on the back of a trailer stretched across the two disabled spots. Even the car attached to it has a smaller Janey stuck to its side. It’s forced a mini-bus to pull up further away from the entrance and a group of unimpressed residents, herded by care attendants, are complaining loudly.

  Ryan, the nurse I met on my first visit, stops to talk to Mary, who is being eaten alive by an enormous mohair grey cardigan today. Mary looks disdainful, turning her head in the opposite direction like a giant bird, all eyes and fluff. Ryan smiles at me and then gets on the bus as well.

  ‘Where are they off to?’ I ask Mary.

  ‘New fitness centre in the next town. Water aerobics.’ She punctuates the sentence with a snort at the ridiculousness of it.

  I sit down on the bench. ‘Could be fun.’

  ‘They fooled me once. Told me I was going for a swim. Thought they meant the ocean but instead it was idiots making tits of themselves, bobbing up and down in germ-infested water.’

  ‘Beach or nothing?’

  ‘Spent my life at the beach and got the skin cancers to prove it.’ She lifts back her hair to show me a nibbled ear. ‘Husband was a lifesaver, son and grandson too. Only one who didn’t like it was my daughter but she’s no good anyway.’

  ‘I saw your grandson’s bench.’

  Her head swivels and an owlish eye peers at me. ‘Travis was a good boy.’

  ‘It must have been a terrible accident.’

  ‘They said he was drink driving,’ Mary says. ‘But I knew something was wrong.’

  ‘Like what?’

  A hand slides out and clutches onto my arm. Her skin is so cold I’m tempted to check her pulse. ‘The bottles were wrong. Bourbon ones were all rattling around in his car. But my Trav didn’t drink bourbon. He hated it. Only drank beer or rum. Someone ran him off the road,’ she whispers. ‘Made it look like an accident. I said so, even went and told your father, told him to test Trav’s blood, but no-one took me seriously.’

  There’s the smell of conspiracy theory to this and more than a touch of madness in the way her eyes bulge, which makes me want to pull my hand away, but I feel too sorry for her.

  ‘I could take you to the bench, if you like,’ I say.

  She slowly nods and then releases me, her hand disappearing into her cardigan’s furry depths.

  ‘You’re a good daughter. First time I saw you, I thought you’d be a one-visit wonder like my lot.’

  I haven’t been a particularly good daughter. Even now, my agenda for visiting my father is complicated. I’m going to tell him about Grace and the trains and see if there is any reaction.

  ‘Promised the world,’ continues Mary, ‘and now I’m lucky if I get an invitation to Christmas dinner. My lot will only turn up when my money comes through but they won’t see a cent of it. Never coming to visit me.’

  ‘There’s a few visitors today,’ I say, pointing to the trailer.

  ‘She’s inside trying to get some early votes,’ Mary explains.

  ‘Are you going to vote for her?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mary says. ‘I’ve known Janey all her life. Father was a bully and she made the mistake of marrying one too but that hasn’t stopped her. She’s just what this town needs right now. If it wasn’t for her, there wouldn’t be this class action. When I get my settlement, I’m going to leave here, maybe take a cruise.’

  Mary and I sit there, watching the traffic go by. The nursing home’s surrounds look less tidy today, food wrappers and dried leaves clogging the gutter.

  ‘Getting a bit messy,’ I say. ‘Hasn’t Jim Keaveney been in today?’

  ‘Been knocked for six by that boy’s death. Missing shifts. Word is they might sack him.’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘The Irish one.’

  ‘Paul Keenan?’

  ‘A charmer. Always used to say hello when he came here to visit Jim.’

  ‘Did he visit often?’

  Mary shrugs. ‘Enough. The two of them used to go bush. Made Jim feel special showing him around. Now he can barely do anything. If it wasn’t for his birds, I reckon he wouldn’t get up in the morning.’

  There’s a glimpse of blue and white up the street. It’s a police car heading in our direction. It slows, indicates and turns in to the car park, the driver’s face recognisable behind the windscreen. My brother-in-law parks the car next to the Mustang.

  ‘He’s got a face as red as a slapped bum,’ says Mary. ‘Someone’s for it.’

  My heart sinks because I’ve a good idea who that someone might be.

  Gavin slams the car door and walks over to us, stiff-legged and serious.

  ‘Mrs Young.’ A curt nod is directed at Mary. ‘Eliza, a word.’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ says Mary, retreating into her harmless old lady act. She cocks her head to one side. ‘Just out here waiting for my lift.’

  Gavin actually puts his hand on my arm and forcibly moves me in the direction of his car, like I’m under arrest.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say, snatching it away.

  ‘Exactly the question I want to ask you,’ he says, towering over me. ‘You could start by explaining why a journalist rang this morning asking me to confirm The Castle bones belong to Grace Hedland.’

  There’s a type of righteous anger that cops learn to turn on and off like a tap designed to frighten the gullible or get someone to talk, but this is the real deal. Gavin is red-rag-to-a-bull furious with me, but after ten years in litigation I’ve been yelled at by bigger bastards than him. The best tactic is to shut up and wait until they run out of puff or blow a gasket, whichever comes first. He hunches over so he can get right in my face, trying to keep his voice low enough so Mary can’t catch it but I see her in my peripheral vision shuffling closer.

  ‘Or why I’ve spent the morning
talking to the Hedland family because they thought the same thing. I told you not to interfere, Eliza. I said we were waiting on forensic information which would be released to the public at the appropriate time.’ His nostrils flare. ‘And the reason I said that is because I’d already seen Dr Adler’s initial assessment which made it clear there was no way these bones could be Grace Hedland’s.’

  It takes a moment for the full impact of this to hit me.

  ‘A fact I had to explain to her distraught family this morning,’ he continues. ‘Mrs Hedland is an ill woman. How dare you give her false hope.’

  ‘But the necklace,’ I begin. ‘It’s hers. Aaron has the photo.’

  He points a finger directly at me. ‘A necklace you never bothered to tell me about. Instead you told Pat Fulton.’

  I try not to look guilty.

  ‘She told me all about it this morning after Aaron came in. Even if that necklace does belong to Grace, which is unlikely, it is certainly not related to the bones. I promised Aaron I would send it off to be analysed, which I will do, a task you have made considerably more difficult than it needed to be. You have done terrible damage to that family.’

  I move back towards his car and lean against it, turning so I don’t have to see his accusing face.

  ‘I’ll also be talking to Dave Deasey about his role in finding the necklace and disturbing those bones. If I can think of something to charge him with, I will.’

  ‘Who do those bones belong to, then?’ I ask.

  This stops him short. ‘Hopefully we will identify them in time.’

  ‘Then how do you know they’re not Grace’s?’

  Gavin’s face hardens. ‘Dr Adler is the top forensic anthropologist in the state. If she says it isn’t possible, then it isn’t.’

  ‘What about the rest of the site?’ I ask. ‘When are you going to start digging? Searching for other bodies?’

  ‘What other bodies?’ His voice is loud now, like he doesn’t care who hears.

  ‘Dave says there are rumours of other bodies being there,’ I tell him. ‘What if Grace Hedland is among them?’

  Gavin throws up his hands.

  ‘Jesus, can you hear yourself? Are you honestly saying that the police should chase up drunken pub gossip? Are you insane?’

  He thinks I’m mad, just as I thought Mary was mad with her conspiracy theories about her grandson, and that makes me pause. We’re not getting anywhere.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘All right. I’ll apologise to the Hedlands. I’ll talk to Stella.’

  The tension breaks a little. He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry about the paper. I’ve already spoken to her boss. He understands raking up old stories won’t help Kinsale.’

  ‘You went to her boss?’ This seems over the top. Gavin really doesn’t want anyone asking questions.

  ‘I did,’ he says. ‘That original investigation was thorough. It’s no good revisiting the past.’

  As I look up at him I have vague memories of Dad bringing the new beanpole of a constable around for dinner at our place and me being forced to answer his questions about my hobbies, which I did in typical teenage sullen style.

  ‘Were you involved in the investigation?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s none of your business.’ His voice is tense, but I hear something else as well. Gavin is worried.

  ‘Who was the witness that said Grace got on a train?’

  Gavin bristles. ‘You’re not her family, Eliza. You have nothing to do with this case.’

  ‘But like I tried to tell you before, the trains weren’t running. Whoever said that lied to the police.’

  It’s hard to read whether this is news to Gavin.

  ‘That’s a pretty big mistake for Dad to make,’ I continue. ‘And he wasn’t someone who made those sorts of mistakes.’

  Gavin immediately jumps on this. ‘Are you attacking your own father’s integrity now?’

  ‘And then yesterday,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm, ‘Aaron told me that Dad was paying his wages down at the Police Boys’ Club.’

  Gavin has now switched to full cop mode. His face is deadpan.

  ‘Pat said Dad was obsessed by this case. He had the file with him when he had his accident. He was regularly paying money to the victim’s family. That doesn’t seem right to me. Something went wrong with this investigation.’

  Gavin stands up to his full height. ‘Your father was the best policeman I’ve known and what he cared about above all else was keeping you and your sister safe. He did everything for this town and for his family and now you have the gall to question his motives. You should be ashamed.’

  Just like there are cop skills, there are lawyer skills and one of them is staying focused on the main game. Gavin’s words are designed to wound but they don’t distract me from the fact that he hasn’t challenged what I’ve said.

  ‘Luke Tyrell knew something about what happened to Grace. When you find him, you need to ask him about it.’

  Gavin almost trembles with anger. ‘Let me make this clear, Eliza. If I find out you are in contact with Luke Tyrell, a dangerous fugitive, I’ll charge you with being an accessory. If I find out that you are continuing to peddle rumours and theories about Grace Hedland, I’ll charge you with withholding evidence and impeding a police investigation.’

  There’s a click clack of heels on the footpath. Janey Bayless stands there, hair a little flatter than the poster, with a worried look on her face. Behind her is a row of shocked-looking people behind the glass doors, all staring at Gavin and me.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asks.

  I manage to say ‘We’re fine’ but Gavin can barely bring himself to look at her and turns away.

  ‘Don’t go on my account, Gavin,’ she calls after him.

  He turns back. ‘You are not to leave trailers like that unattended, especially not in disabled parking spots, Janey. You’ll be booked if it happens again.’ He gets in his car.

  Behind his back Janey gives him a mock salute. ‘Aye-aye Captain,’ she mutters under her breath, and then to me, ‘What was that all about? Could hear the two of you arguing from inside.’

  ‘Nothing important,’ I say. She gives me a disbelieving look.

  ‘You were talking about that girl who went missing years ago.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Eliza, I heard you say her name. What’s going on?’ Another hard look directed my way. ‘All right,’ she says eventually when I still don’t answer. ‘Keep being mysterious. Still, I’m glad I ran into you. A little bird told me you were working on the bushfire case for the power company.’

  My heart skips a beat. ‘Who said that?’ I ask, bracing for another tirade.

  ‘So it is true,’ she says. ‘You should have said.’

  ‘It’s how the system works, Janey,’ I begin, wondering how many times I’m going to have this conversation. ‘Everyone deserves legal representation.’

  ‘Hey,’ she says, putting up two perfectly manicured hands. ‘You’re only doing your job. I get it.’

  I can’t quite believe this. Janey is lead plaintiff and, after what Tony went through, I’d blame me if I were her.

  ‘Sometimes we have to do things we’d prefer not to,’ she says. ‘I understand. You’ve got to do what’s right for you and I’ll do what’s right for me. What I can’t work out is why are you wasting yourself back in Kinsale? You’re a city girl with a great career.’

  This almost makes me smile, because right now I could end up with no career at all, let alone a great one.

  ‘You know, I reckon I would have been a good lawyer,’ continues Janey, ‘but those opportunities weren’t available for the likes of me. Things might have been very different if they had. I sort of figure this whole mayor thing is probably my last roll of the dice, my last chance to do something for this town and for myself.’

  I look at her, this five-foot nothing human dynamo. ‘You’ll be a great mayor,’ I tell her.

  ‘You know what,’ sh
e says, ‘this town won’t know what hit it. Kinsale will be like a phoenix rising from the ashes,’ and she lets rip a great throaty laugh. ‘Still, Eliza, you need to take care of yourself. Not everyone else in town will see it the way I do. Wouldn’t want it to get nasty. Head back to the city where you belong, love.’

  Before I have a chance to reply, her phone buzzes and she pulls it out of her bag. ‘Is that the time? I’m supposed to be at a candidates’ lunch in ten minutes,’ and she dashes off.

  I walk over to Mary to say goodbye.

  ‘Not seeing Mick today then,’ she says. It is couched like a reprimand and I’m tempted to tell her to join the queue.

  ‘I better go sort out this mess first.’

  As I follow the big and small versions of Janey Bayless out of the car park, I try to work out what to do next. Gavin would do anything, shut down anyone, if he thought my father’s reputation was being threatened but this case is unfinished business. Dad must have been carrying around Grace’s file for a reason.

  My father needs this case to be solved and I do too.

  23

  The following morning when I drive past the Hedland house for the third time I notice the car is in the driveway but still no-one answers the door when I knock. It’s school time so the street is even quieter than when I tried yesterday, straight after my argument with Gavin. A teenage boy slouches past, hands in pockets, a skateboard under his arm. The hoodie looks familiar. It’s the boy who ran across the road in front of my car the day of the attack. As if sensing my interest, he turns around and there is a family resemblance to the freckled kid who Aaron spoke to when I was here a couple of days earlier. I wonder if this is the brother, who looks to be skipping school again. He drops the skateboard next to his foot, all the while keeping an eye on me.

  He’s wondering what I’m doing here and to be honest so am I.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I call out. ‘Have you seen Aaron?’

  He gives the kind of teenage shrug that could mean ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘depends on who’s asking’. It’s the non-verbal equivalent of ‘not telling’.

  ‘It’s urgent.’