by Kylie Kaden
‘A prank? Kinda coincidental, don’t you think?’ Will stopped. ‘Wait – was his mother home when this shit went down? When you were rolling her son’s body into the water?’
‘You think I’m that stupid? No. Besides, the woman can’t get up from her chair without her carer. And she’s got Alzheimer’s.’
‘She was lucid last time I saw her, a few months back.’
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘I’m her GP – not much choice around here.’
‘Jesus.’ Blake rubbed the tension from his face and rested on the side of the couch. ‘Look, mate. I know this is a fucking nightmare. But we’ve been living it for weeks, trying to keep your family together. I went there because Abbi needed my help and I did what I could.’
‘It’s not like we’re sitting pretty, here. How did you help, exactly, Blake? Where’s the weapon? How the hell did his foot end up floating in the ocean? How did a dead guy get down a ramp?’ Will glared at Blake.
‘He was lolling in it, on the edge, behind the boat when the wash came through. We carried him right down to the bottom of the embankment. I couldn’t risk them poking around if they got suspicious.’
‘What sort of detective allows a body to float away from the scene of his own Goddamn crime?’
‘Don’t you mean your wife’s crime?’ Like boxers in a ring, Blake and Will stood a foot from each other, tempers flaring. ‘I don’t fucking believe this.’ Blake stepped closer towards Will, finger poking his chest. ‘I risked everything to save your wife’s arse.’
‘Your sister’s arse.’ Will’s face coloured, his eyes inspecting Blake’s before sliding over to Abbi. ‘The sister who was off helping you instead of watching her daughter …’
‘That’s not fair. I covered for her!’ Blake said, and seemed to pull back as if readying to take a swing.
Blake’s street-kid defence had been activated. She knew she had to break this Mexican standoff, and stepped between them. ‘And I’m forever grateful, Blake. Will’s just trying to catch up.’ She pulled him away from her blindsided husband. ‘Just give him some time.’
Blake shrugged Abbi off. ‘You know what? You’re right. I’m done with this.’ His hand swept along the coffee table, papers flying and scattering on the floor. ‘You can manage this shitstorm now, mate, since you reckon you can do a better job. She’s all yours.’
Blake grabbed his keys, stomped out.
Abbi and Will stared at each other, silence dancing around them until Blake’s car took off. Will walked to the front, watched Blake’s tail-lights sink below the crest of the hill, and looked back at Abbi.
‘Okay, he’s gone.’ Will sat her down. His eyes held disappointment and concern. He rubbed his face with his hands as if to reset his mind, turned to her. ‘Are you covering for him? Is that what’s going on? Because what I just heard is bullshit.’
‘Covering for Blake?’
‘Did he try to arrest Trevor? Did things get heated?’
‘No, no, Will, that’s not it.’
‘Then what is?’ Will propped up her chin and looked into her eyes. ‘Start from the beginning. The truth, this time.’
Abbi looked over to him, her hands sprawled out on the couch like stabilisers, and realised something. All this time she’d been living it for the both of them. It was time for him to carry his load.
‘The truth, huh? Well, you first, Will.’ She felt cruel, she could see that he was starting to lose his resolve, but she couldn’t keep the defensiveness from her voice.
His face tensed. ‘Me?’ His brow furrowed. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do.’ She looked up at him. At the man she’d do anything to keep. ‘What really happened in that shed, Will?’
‘You just finished telling me you’ve been covering up a murder, and you’re asking me what happened?’ He was incredulous. ‘You think I made it up? That nothing happened to our daughter? That his fingers weren’t …’ His words fell away, too appalling to say out loud.
She shook her head. ‘It was what happened after that I’m a little unclear about. You told me you punched him, and after I left, you said you threatened him. That’s it.’
‘That’s exactly what did happen.’ His eyes were open, honest as they’d ever been. He was incapable of lying. How could she doubt him?
‘Really, Will? Then why was he dead when I got there?’
Chapter 19
THE DAY OF THE MOON FESTIVAL
When Abbi had watched her sleep for what seemed like forever, and was sure Eadie wouldn’t self-destruct, she took one last look at her daughter’s sweet face, perfect and round on her pillowslip, and went to make a cuppa. ‘Tea?’ she asked Will.
‘I need a shower before I do anything normal.’
She knew her husband. Showers were his anaesthetic – he could be lost in a cloud of steam for what seemed like forever.
Now was her chance to get out, to breathe. There was a bite in the autumn air, so she slipped on her husband’s olive-green hoodie, which was bundled on the bench, a dress more than a coat on her smaller frame. As she slowly eased her front door closed, the crisp night air still failed to find her lungs.
She could never replace everything Eadie lost today, but she could find her bunny, her favourite thing – and for Abbi in that moment, everything hinged on it; her marriage, her family, her ability to feel useful again. Abbi had searched the yard, car and house, as she had a thousand times for the damn thing. Gemma the rabbit had now become brown and blotchy from her endless adventures with Eadie. She figured they must have dropped her on the way home that afternoon.
Abbi retraced her steps from earlier that evening, down the cul-de-sac, around the frangipani tree, behind the picnic table they’d rushed past as they retreated to safety after finding her. It wasn’t anywhere. She skulked on the footpath, a bundle of mixed emotion lodged in her throat: disgust, anger, fear, but mostly self-blame. If she’d just kept a better eye on her.
Abbi felt claustrophobic. She had to find that bunny.
She stared at the little burgundy house. It had to be in there.
What was that bastard up to right now? Fleeing? Destroying his kiddie-porn? Tying himself a noose after facing the fact he was surely destined for jail? Abbi’s curiosity was like a cut lip she couldn’t ignore.
As she approached the Adler house, the strangling feeling took hold, firmed its grip on her and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed. She powered through her fear, imagining Eadie’s smile when Abbi returned home with her beloved Gemma, how it would help her daughter feel safe again. She bravely stepped down the hill towards the bastard’s house, but didn’t stop there – sneaking down the side of his yard to the shed. Its light was off. A shard of moonlight shone through a small square window and revealed a cluttered workbench in the darkness. She spotted Eadie’s bunny, ears akimbo on the table inside. Out of place. It just didn’t belong there. If nothing else, she was saving that flaming rabbit. Like a woman possessed, Abbi slipped under the back roller-door, adrenalin surging, barely able to see in the dark. She crept towards the bench, reached out to grab it and tripped, landing palms first on the cold concrete, sawdust soft and gritty beneath her nails.
‘Shit,’ she whispered, petrified she’d disturb someone in the house, that he’d find her and tie her up. Who knew where his evil stopped? He could have a freezer full of body parts for all she knew. But she’d take pleasure in punching his lights out if she had to.
She sat up, brushed off the sawdust, and when she pushed herself up she felt soft, warm flesh. Abbi sprang to her feet like a frog, backing up against the bench, her fingers pressed to her lips to suppress the scream lodged in her throat.
Trevor Adler’s body was at her feet. Her mind raced, each breath chased the last as she struggled to understand.
How could this be? He was alive when she’d last seen him. It had happened so fast – finding Eadie alone in the street, screaming for Will, hearing a commotion from th
e garage and bounding on the scene. She’d seen the anger in Will’s face. He’d had Trevor by the throat, hit him hard, more than once. She’d raced Eadie out, leaving her husband angry and alone with a man who had just violated their daughter.
Suddenly the answer was clear.
Will was a solid six- foot- three. Over one hundred kilos of power behind a charged, primal instinct to protect his daughter. To use brutal force to remove the risk, to resurrect his pride, his masculinity. To be certain that animal never touched her again.
He couldn’t have.
It was merely seconds …
She knew about king hits. One punch could kill. The concrete was a hard landing.
Abbi forced her trembling hand to touch her neighbour’s wrist, a wave of disgust overwhelming her as she imagined the same hands on her daughter only hours before.
No pulse.
She’d got what she wanted. The mongrel was dead, the only fate he deserved.
Tears slid down her face – not for him, but for them. For what this meant.
Abbi grabbed the bunny, backed out through the door, and breathed.
* * *
Abbi realised she was capable of murder the day her daughter was born. It was terrifying. As she’d held that squirming bundle of potential, she knew she’d do anything necessary to keep her safe. Protecting her child was the reason she was here. It was like a pheromone of homicidal potential slipped in with the epidural, as if giving birth had recalibrated her soul. The love was instant, fierce, overarching everything that came before.
That sort of love came at a price. It weakened your foundations, added a latent unpredictability to your seemingly responsible life, because forevermore you knew you’d not only die for them. You’d kill.
She doubted Will loved Eadie any less. Had he done the unthinkable?
In the five or so minutes between finding the body and realising Will was the last to see him alive, Abbi figured there were two possibilities: Will had wanted him dead, and punched to kill, or Will had, unbeknown to him, injured Trevor in a way that caused him to fall and fatally hit his head, and left him to die. In either case, the man she loved had killed someone. With Will’s sheer size and motive, no jury would believe it was accidental.
She never would have believed her compassionate husband could intentionally kill anything, but perhaps, in that fleeting moment, seeing what he saw, his instinct to protect and avenge was stronger than anything else.
Parenting with a saint wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She was forever getting herself in a flap, and one word, one press on her shoulder from Will and her frustration would diffuse like light through silk. He made an art out of keeping perspective in life. Since having Eadie, Will’s ability to stay calm in even the most frustrating of scenarios had started to grate like wind chimes in a gale: a reminder of all she was yet to become. It was like being married to a giant Yoda. Calm, you’ll be.
Now, she realised, even her saintly husband had his limits.
She had to get home, confront him. He was so convincing, earlier – wanting to go back to check on Trevor. Could he have been acting? Will might not even know his punch had deadly consequences.
But then what? He would go straight to the police. He’d admit to belting the bastard. He’d end up in jail. All because she’d taken her eyes off their daughter.
Blake’s car pulled up – she saw the reflection of lights beam across the small side window.
There was no time to think; Blake was there to arrest Trevor, just like she’d asked. Loyal, dependable Blake.
He was a straight cop. He’d learned early in his career not to mess with procedure. Even though Will was his friend, Blake wouldn’t cover for him. Not for Will.
But Blake would do anything for her.
As she heard Blake’s footsteps approach, she grabbed an offcut of timber, wiped her ‘weapon’ across Trevor’s blood-clotted temple, and raised it high, gripped it hard, like her life depended on the bullshit web she was about to spin.
* * *
It was surprisingly easy, her manipulation of Blake. She realised she’d been doing it for so long it had become second nature. Oscar-winning. And lies were easier to back up when two people were involved.
After the night from hell – her false confession, the ambulance interrupting her impromptu plan, running along the shore in a panic, terrified of finding the body, terrified of failing to – Blake ordered her home.
‘Go. Let me handle this. I can clean up. Will’s gonna wonder where you are, why you aren’t home with Eadie.’
It must have been nearly an hour. He was right.
On shaky legs, she scurried up the hill, home. Her trembling hand found the handle and opened her front door, but she was elsewhere, operating on cache memory like a driverless car. She couldn’t get the image out of her mind: her unflappable husband, his gentle hands, causing harm. Those kind eyes, becoming fierce and menacing. Why didn’t she race home when she found the body, include him in her predicament? She hadn’t dealt with a problem on her own since meeting him six years before. Why start now?
She entered the lounge and collapsed on the couch, remembering only now that she’d removed Will’s sweatshirt – stained with Trevor’s blood – and left it outside Trevor’s house, shaking it off in disgust when she saw the stain. How could she explain that? She’d stowed it behind the hot water system. Did she have time to go back?
Will paced towards her in boxer shorts and a frown, his hair slick and dark. He sighed in relief. ‘Thank God. I was just going to start looking for you. You okay?’
She knew the whole thing depended on him believing her next words, but she couldn’t think. Her mind was a vacuum. ‘I went to find Gemma.’ She held up Eadie’s rabbit, its grey silky ears flopping over her hand. ‘She was asking for her.’
* * *
Okay, that wasn’t going to fly. Abbi had so much to process that she didn’t know where to start, each problem interrupting the next, but figured she’d just put out each fire as it flared. She decided that telling the fewest number of lies possible was simplest.
‘I watched his place until I saw Blake turn up. I just wanted to see the arrest. See the bastard. Vent my anger a bit.’
Will exhaled. ‘Why didn’t you just let Blake handle it?’
‘God, Will. You saw it happen. How can we sleep knowing that man is next door? I couldn’t breathe, thinking of him in that house. I needed to see him taken away.’
‘What did the prick say? Did he mention me thrashing him? He must have a nasty black eye by now.’
A black eye and a still heart.
She froze. She couldn’t meet his eyes. After all she’d done, lying to the man she loved felt like the worst of betrayals.
When Abbi didn’t answer, he asked, ‘So, come on, Blake arrested him? Just like that, no statements or anything?’
A chill crept up her neck. And so it begins. ‘He wasn’t home. Left for good, I reckon.’ Her eyes fell to her lap.
He frowned. ‘Gone? Already?’
Abbi shrugged. ‘His car’s gone. Maybe we scared him off.’ The lies slid off her tongue now as if each one was lubricated for the next. It all felt like a game. ‘Besides, you know what they do to his kind in prison. Blake even went around the back, checked the garage – no sign of him.’
No sign of anything, hopefully. Squeaky clean. Blake said he’d wash the blood away with oxygen bleach – ecofriendly fabric stain- remover he’d found in the bastard’s laundry. To stage a disappearance more than a murder, he’d drive Trevor’s car to the beach with the deepest channel and watch it sink. But she’d forgotten to mention where she’d stowed Will’s stained hoodie. She’d have to go back tomorrow and retrieve it.
Will nodded, which encouraged her to add detail like a layer cake, piling one lie on top of another, hoping the whole thing wouldn’t cave in. ‘He said he’d scheduled an alert to have him picked up and arrested. Said we should put a restraining order on him just in case but he d
oesn’t think he’ll show his face here again. The humiliation alone would kill him. I mean, he was a teacher, Will – how long has this gone on? How many victims?’
Will sat, rigid on the couch, muscles tightening in his neck. ‘He told me he hated what he was. That he loathed himself. I almost felt sorry for him.’
Abbi grimaced. ‘That makes it even more unforgivable. It wasn’t a one-off.’
He dragged his nails down his cheeks before shaking his head, standing up. ‘I witnessed the bloody crime, surely they need my statement to proceed with anything. I’m going down there.’
Her leg muscles tightened. She tried to hide her panic. ‘It’s almost eleven. You’re right, we should let Blake handle it.’ She guided him down onto the couch once more. ‘He said to get some sleep, that he’d come ’round in the morning, get you to formalise it. He’s already put the alert out for him. What more can we do now?’
‘There’s the school, too. They need to know.’
Abbi bit her teeth down on her bottom lip. ‘If you tell everyone, you’ll have to admit to the assault.’
‘I’m happy to – I was provoked. Anyone can see that.’
‘You’d have a criminal record, lose your medical licence.’ She could see that her comment dug through his basic instinct to just blurt out the truth. ‘And what if child services investigate why a five-year-old was wandering the streets at night, alone?’
‘Hon, calm down. She wandered off in a crowd – hardly child neglect.’
Abbi shook her head. ‘You don’t know what they do – they twist things. They’ll say I placed her at risk. They could take her.’
‘You think I’d let that happen?’ Will reached over to her, his eyes softening. ‘This is not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but his.’
Abbi breathed. He wasn’t buying it. She needed another tactic. ‘Anyway, Blake said we’re best to keep it under wraps until they track him down – that it might jeopardise the investigation if the education department start arse-covering proceedings.’