by Kylie Kaden
Blake hadn’t been on a motorbike since.
Crouched on the hard floor, he ran through the original scene, picturing the report he’d have to make: swollen right eye, coagulated blood around a deep cut on the victim’s swollen lip – the likely source of the blood. He closed his eyes to think: Trevor had been on his side when he’d checked his airways, one hand holding his own neck. Had he choked? Suffocated? He couldn’t unravel this scene at a glance, it didn’t add up.
He looked over at Abbi, tried to reconcile the warm, vivacious person he knew with the cold statue sitting next to him. Detached and devoid of emotion. His eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. There was no escaping this. The town would be in uproar. CIB would get their hands on it. And Eadie …
Abbi’s love for her daughter was fierce. He knew that to be true. He thought of the stories of mothers with superhuman strength lifting cement pylons to free their babies, taking bullets for their kids. She came back for a toy, my arse. ‘You came back for him.’ It was a whisper more than anything – he didn’t even look at her as he spoke. ‘You did this.’
His chest caved in, sucking out what little breath he had left. He shook his head. It was simple. ‘I have to call this in. Now.’
She inhaled sharply. How could she not have expected this? Abbi sprang to life like his words were pure adrenalin, crouched down to Blake’s eye level. ‘You have to help me, Blay.’ Her glossy eyes searched his. ‘Please.’
He shook his head. ‘You killed him and thought you’d invite me into your shit-storm? Christ, Abbi.’ His head filled with heat. ‘What were you thinking? What the hell do you expect me to do?’
‘We’ve always had each other’s backs – haven’t we? I need help!’
This was his job. His life! ‘Help? Bit late for that. You shoulda stayed home! But as usual you’re a bull at a gate with no thought for the consequences. You had to make this about you.’
‘None of this would have even happened if I hadn’t left the festival to bring you your fucking key!’
Blake’s eyes narrowed. ‘So, it’s my fault you killed someone?’
As though she hadn’t heard him, she started pacing like she was brainstorming a new story idea. ‘We could make it look like suicide.’
She’d thought he would cover for her. That’s why he was here. No one would suspect the bubbly mum who did the fluff pieces for the local news was a murderer. He wouldn’t have believed it himself if he hadn’t seen it. Killers look exactly like their victims. Heat ran up Blake’s neck and filled his head. ‘No, Abbi. No fucking way.’
‘Will mentioned Trevor was burnt out from looking after his mum. Maybe he was depressed? He could make a statement.’ She’d gone from comatose to enthused.
‘Yeah? And what about the injuries?’
‘I’ll say he came at me with a wrench!’
‘You think they’ll believe that? He was a conservationist. A hippie. He protested when they mistreated donkeys in the fucking Christmas parade. I mean, Jesus Christ, what happened? You were holding a plank when I got here. How long was he down for?’
‘She wouldn’t settle … after what happened. When I came back for her bunny he startled me.’
‘Startled you? It’s his fucking house! You were breaking and entering.’
‘The creep was holding it. Smelling it.’ She seemed to snap back to reality with a look of excitement and put her hand on Blake’s forearm. ‘I could say he went crazy – that it was self-defence. Maybe he was trying to get rid of me to keep his secret from getting out?’
Adler, Principal of the Year, a raging madman? Was it any less credible than Abbi Adams, fluff-piece journalist and cold-blooded murderer? ‘You’ve lost it, Abs! They’ll comb this place – every inch will be forensically tested. Infrared lights. Sniffer dogs. Blood-spatter experts. The facts will be indisputable. And you entered his house.’
Abbi’s eyes fell on the thick timber – blood smeared on the heavy tip. Oh, God. ‘What do I do with it? My fingerprints …’ She dropped it and shook her head. ‘I never meant for this. You have to believe me. I just wanted to get her bunny back, but when I saw him again, holding it in the dark …’ She was in a trance. ‘I just exploded. When he fell, he hit his head on the way down.’ She touched the scratch on her hand. ‘I was scared. It was an accident, I swear.’
Blake felt a surge of hope. He nodded. ‘Then we say that.’ She was provoked. It was self-defence. She might even get out in a year, with parole. You could come back from that.
Abbi shook her head. ‘They won’t believe he’s capable of violence because of his standing in the Goddamn community.’
‘So, we tell him what he did. What he really was.’
‘Then they’ll think I murdered him – that it gave me motive.’ Abbi’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t go to jail! Think of Eadie. It will ruin her.’
Blake hung his head in his hands and exhaled. ‘If you wanted to cover this up, Abbi, why involve me? Why bring me down in the shit with you?’
‘Please, Blake. What are you going to do, arrest me? Leave Eadie motherless? You of all people know what it’s like to grow up with a mother behind bars.’
She was right about that. Was he seriously going to cuff the closest thing to family he had left? The person who’d once made him feel like he could hope for more than just survival?
She stroked his arm, and he pulled away. ‘Can’t we just think about this?’ she said. ‘It’s my life we’re talking about. Eadie’s life. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve turned a blind eye for a mate.’
Blake was dumbstruck. He never would have believed Abbi could be vindictive enough to bring that history up now. ‘You wouldn’t.’ If she did, it would wreck any chance he ever had with Hannah; not to mention losing his job.
The Persian licking its paws on the workbench pricked its ears and darted between two storage cupboards. The side security bulb triggered and cut shards of light through the window exacerbating the horror inside, the white of Trevor’s face against the blood-speckled floor. Blake crept to the window at half-mast and saw an ambulance parked on the street.
‘What the hell? You called the ambos after beating a man to death?’ He ran his fingers through sweat-soaked hair.
‘Course not. I have no idea what they’re doing here. What do we do?’
Whatever the ambos’ reason for being here, it would only be minutes before they’d invade the scene. Often, they had authority to enter, instructions from locals to find hidden keys, especially with old folks like Connie. He needed to buy time. ‘They’ll check for access, make sure no one’s unconscious and unable to answer the door.’
‘They can’t see him! Just help me move him out of view.’ She bent down to grab the body.
Blake threw his hands in the air. ‘I’m not going to be a part of this.’
Abbi grabbed the bloody weapon she’d hit Trevor with, and threw it in the lake as hard as she could. Which wasn’t actually that far.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Saving myself.’ The wood offcut floated out of view into the darkness. She came closer. ‘Look, Blake, I’m not saying you have to cover for me, just buy us some time. He’s dead already. There’s nothing they can do for him now. We can sort this out when they’re gone.’
Blake’s head felt like it would explode; he was screwed either way. His eyes took in Abbi’s distraught face, her wet cheeks, the desperation in her eyes. The same smile as her mum, their mum, warm and vulnerable. Could he live with himself if he didn’t help her?
The boat ramp was only metres from the body. The back roller-door would close it off, out of view if they came in the front.
He heard car doors slam in the drive. Footsteps up the porch. The white noise of the ambos’ CB radio. A figure shadowed the stained glass flanking the main garage door.
‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ Blake said, adrenalin charging his limbs and panic filling his mind, just as he heard the paramedics talking on the street. ‘Grab
his legs.’
* * *
Blake heard Abbi wince as her back scraped against the rough bricks of the garage where she was skulking out of view of the ambos. As he pulled down the back Tilt-A-dor, he paced down the side to find two paramedics sniffing around the front door, calling out, ‘Mr Adler?’ It was Ethan, one of the young snappers, calling, knocking. He saw Blake. ‘Mate. You get called out too, Sarge?’
‘Ethan, g’day mate. Yeah, heard it on the radio and was on my way home from my shift – storm in a tea cup, really.’ Blake’s breath hitched. ‘Damn kids. We’ve had a few pranks at this address – last week it was his letterbox vandalised. Another time someone turned off his bait fridge – stank to high heaven. Ex-students, perhaps, getting even.’
Ethan nodded. ‘Yeah? Thought he was pretty popular. Didn’t they name the hall after him?’
‘Mighta, yeah. Anyway, I’ll let you guys on your way – all seems to be in order. I’ll just do a drive by later.’
Ethan didn’t retreat. ‘Thought it might be the old girl again, had a call-out to her not long ago – Trevor couldn’t get her back into bed. She’s getting on now, huh?’ Ethan said.
‘And what is it – dementia?’ Ethan’s partner said. Blake had forgotten his name. Maybe I’ve got the beginnings of dementia? He took a breath, tried to appear relaxed. Like this was any routine call out. Nothing to see here.
‘She’s not home – out at that stroke rehab place in Mornington, I heard.’
‘Right, okay. Lucky she’s got Trevor then,’ Ethan’s partner said as if he had all day to chat. As if there wasn’t a dead body lolling just above the waterline fifty metres from where they stood. ‘Connie’s other son – he’s a bit of a looper – all that muttering to himself.’
Was that a technical term? Blake took offence on the man’s behalf. He’d always liked Catfish and that huge rescue mutt of his. He’d take him over his brother any day, as it turned out.
‘Anyway.’ Blake fingered his mobile, willing it to ring just to get the paramedics out of his face, out of his crime scene, so he could work out what the hell to do now. ‘I’ll catch you later, huh?’
‘Probably feel better if I could chat to Trevor – you know, for the report.’
Ethan. Always by the book, the straight bastard. ‘Yeah, I get it. Headquarters, huh? But I checked, he’s not here, mate. Banged on the door, went around the back, all clear. No sign of anyone.’ Unless you’re counting corpses. ‘Trev, well, he’s probably at the festival like everyone else.’ He surprised himself. The lies just kept coming. Sailing on a sea of them.
‘Probably right.’ Ethan nodded, seemed happy with that, and Blake’s stomach uncoiled. ‘Got another drunk at the festival to contend with, by the sounds. Should probably check it out.’ The paramedics went on their way with a cheerio.
Oblivious.
As the white van made the descent out of view, Blake darted out the back, expecting to see Trevor’s pale corpse wobbling on the shoreline behind his tinnie.
It wasn’t.
‘Abbi, what the hell? Where is it?’
She hesitantly nudged her head around the corner near the hedge, surveyed the slippery boat ramp down to the river.
‘Shit. You weren’t watching?’
‘A boat came past fast, right in close. I hid. The wash must have swept him … Oh God!’ she gasped as the enormity of it hit home. This was a complete bungled mess, spiralling out of control.
Blake paced along the jetty. ‘He’s bloody gone! He’s fucking gone!’
‘Are you sure he was totally dead?’
‘Totally dead?’ And she’s the one with the degree. ‘Course he was dead! Jesus.’
Seconds passed, silent, leaden.
‘But isn’t this good?’ Abbi brightened. ‘We don’t have to deal with it anymore. Bodies sink, right?’
‘Yes, Einstein. They sink. For days, they sink, until they start to rot. Then they float.’
Abbi inhaled, like she’d just realised they had a problem. As if everything was peachy until then. ‘Days? We can’t wait days – we have to find him. How far could he float in five minutes?’
Blake scratched his face in frustration before looking out into the darkness and wading in past his knees.
Abbi ran back up the jetty, face white with fear, and into the shed, returning with a broom. She followed Blake in, poking randomly at the rocky waterbed. ‘He’s got to be just here. How far could he get?’
‘There’s this thing called a tide, Abs. Heard of it?’
‘But the spit – it’s closed off from the ocean here.’
‘Here. But not everywhere. It’s part of a network of estuaries. How can you live here and not know that?’
‘I’m not thinking.’ Abbi surveyed the deep, dark waterway in front of them as Blake waded about like a trout fisherman. ‘So, he could come to the surface anywhere?’
‘Anywhere in the lake. Unless he gets caught on some debris, tree roots on the bank.’ Blake’s whisper was getting louder as he became more frustrated, continually looking over his shoulder, scanning up the side of the house to the road. The units on the other side were full of tourists, and he hoped they were still at the festival, half pissed, not on their balconies. But the lanterns were long gone. Groups would be wandering home by now.
Abbi looked panicked. He could see she wanted this over with. ‘How long till he floats?’
‘I don’t know!’ He was drenched now, his hair slick, his arms glossy in the moonlight.
‘Didn’t you learn this stuff at the academy?’
‘How to hide a body? Must have missed that week.’ Blake thought he’d stumbled on it, but it was only a mossy crab pot, sunken in the mud.
Abbi stayed close to him, like the Loch Ness Monster was going to get her if she strayed.
‘Check over there. We need to cover more ground.’
‘Blake. I’m freaking out here!’
‘Think I’m good with this? Just find him!’
‘But—’ She stopped, looked back over her shoulder as he waded about in the darkness. He thought back to ghastly scenes on TV – serial killers dissolving bodies in acid as if they were hazardous waste, chopping people like cuts of meat. Was this their Breaking Bad?
‘Blake? If we do find it. What do we do then?’
Chapter 18
35 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
Abbi sat motionless on the couch, legs folded to her chest, watching Will’s reaction, as Blake walked him through his version of what happened that night, weeks before. Will kept shaking his head in disbelief at their stupidity. ‘You never found him?’
‘Not till the foot.’ Blake coloured.
‘So, you hid this from me, both of you, for this long. Why?’
Abbi realised it was absurd, when he put it like that. ‘I thought you’d force me to turn myself in. Do the right thing.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. You told me you went to see Blake take him away. Blake finds you wielding a weapon in the shed. Still doesn’t tell me how he wound up dead.’
Abbi swallowed, prepared. ‘I panicked! He just came at me.’
‘Adler found you. In his shed. Which door did he come through? From the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘He got angry, and what, lunged at you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was the back door open?’
Abbi tried to think. ‘The back Tilt-A-Dor, you mean?’
‘Either. Could you get out? Was he holding you captive?’
Who was this man? ‘What is this, a cross-examination? You know how upset I was. It was dark. He didn’t realise I was there at first, but he must have heard me slide up the door, come to investigate, but then he saw me and I just freaked.’
‘So, you hit him with a plank of wood and he just stood there, let you bludgeon him to death? Did he scratch you? Hurt you?’
‘No, but I was scared he could …’
Abbi had forgotten Blake was there until she heard h
im shuffle as he adjusted his stance, folded his arms. He too, was staring at her, appraising every word. He too, was deep in thought, sewing the patches of information together, and her heart pounded in her ears.
Will turned to Blake. ‘Wait – so he was out cold when you got there? Non-responsive? Are you sure?’
Blake nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s about the only thing I am sure of, right now.’ He glowered at Abbi, then looked back at Will. ‘The first thing I did was check his pulse. Nothing.’
‘It could’ve just been weak.’
‘Look, I’m no fucking doctor, but the dude was dead, okay?’
‘Doesn’t sound like you’re a fucking detective either,’ Will mumbled.
Blake shook his head, sighed deeply.
Will’s brow furrowed. ‘Was he cold when you moved him?’
Blake rubbed his forehead. ‘Warm–ish.’
Will was in a trance, indifferent to Blake’s frustration. ‘What about his eyes? Were they cloudy?’
Blake tensed. ‘I didn’t check. They were kinda swollen – I figured it was from the blow to the head. There was blood on his lip, which was puffy too, and a bit of vomit on his shirt.’
‘What about his limbs? You carried him. Was he stiff?’
‘Not really. I could move his limbs.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I’d say nine-ish. I could check the ambulance call-out for the exact—’
Will’s eyes grew wide. ‘Ambulance?’
Blake grimaced. He knew how it looked. ‘Someone called an ambulance.’
‘Jesus Christ, Blake. So, someone saw or heard the scuffle?’
‘That’s what screwed us. We just rolled him outside, down the ramp a bit, so he was out of view when the ambos turned up, and the bloody wake from a motorboat picked him up. He was gone by the time I went back to him.’
‘A boat? Wait – I didn’t hear any ambulance?’
‘You were in the shower. They didn’t use sirens.’
Will glared at them. ‘Who the fuck called it in? Wouldn’t the cops have investigated that by now?’
‘Some kid’s prank. They obviously don’t know that was the day that he died, he could have been in the water weeks either side of the festival night according to pathology results of the foot decomp – they never associated the two.’