by Kylie Kaden
‘Oh, hon, no,’ Hannah said, reassuring her. ‘That was … after.’
Molly swallowed, grieving the fleeting thought, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved. ‘Who is it, then? Who’s my father?’
Dan Worthington collapsed into hysterical moans of pain, as if he’d been sacked from the only role in his life he needed. ‘This is why you girls should save yourself for marriage. None of this would have ever happened!’ He ran from the room.
Molly didn’t feel like running after him this time. ‘You mean I would never have happened.’
Mother and daughter looked at each other for the first time since their newfangled relationship began. Hannah took her hand, led her daughter to the hall. To the old photo of Angela Worthington and Liz Gardener in that house they never spoke of. For the first time, Molly noticed two kids in the background. A younger Hannah and a cute boy with raven-black hair, like hers.
‘His name is Andrew Gardener.’
Tears finally ran down Molly’s cheek, her face collapsing into a red ball of snot and tears and grief, and Hannah held her. Minutes passed. Molly took the frame off the wall, leaving a faded square beneath. She held it close. ‘Is he nice?’
Hannah nodded and guided her back to the couch. ‘I grew up with him – every summer he’d be a few inches taller, until we were sixteen, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. He was weirdly polite, used to talk to plants and used to walk and read at the same time – just like you.’ Hannah was crying now. ‘He was my first love, and despite all the pain it’s caused, I don’t regret meeting him for a minute. And I don’t regret you. Not for a second.’
Molly wiped her eyes with her school jumper. ‘Why hasn’t he ever contacted me?’
‘He doesn’t know you’re his. But that can change, anytime you want. I’m so sorry we kept this from you, but now you know the truth, it’s your truth to do what you want with. You’re in control, now. Nothing needs to change if you don’t want it to.’
Molly sat, considering.
‘I know you’ll need a while to process all this, and you don’t need to ever call me Mum if it’s too weird – I know Mum raised you, and did a better job than I could have. But now that she’s gone, I think I’m ready now, to take over, if you give me a chance.’ Hannah blotted the tears pooling in her eyes with her finger, and Molly knew that she meant every word.
Molly hesitated, then peered down at Hannah’s belly suspiciously. She shook he head in disgust. ‘I was actually in there?’
‘Yep. Got the stretchmarks to prove it.’ Hannah pointed to the white worms streaking across her midriff that Molly had always assumed had been from her weight gain.
Maybe I’ll show you my scars, one day.
‘I even breastfed you, for a bit. It was kind of freaky.’
Molly cringed. ‘Gross.’
Chapter 34
43 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
The distorted atmosphere the house had developed in Will’s absence began to repair itself. Abbi started playing music, making plans. She opened the blinds, let the winter light warm the floorboards, shine on the pictures once more. After a simple lunch – the first meal that had felt normal in six weeks – Will stood before her, his keys and his wallet in one hand, a printed statement in the other.
‘What does it say?’ she breathed out.
‘The truth.’
Abbi inhaled.
‘It states that I punched a man after catching him abusing my daughter. That I left. That’s all I know for sure. No one seems to have any proof of what happened after that.’
Abbi couldn’t find the words. ‘She needs you, Will.’
He stroked her face. ‘Who knows what we’re in for. A kid just needs one person in their life who loves them. You are all Eades needs. You are. You can do this on your own for a while, if it comes to it. You said it yourself. You just have to believe it.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘So, I’m giving this to Blake and I’m coming clean about what I did. If they can pin his death on me, if they’ve got enough evidence to convict, then I’ll live with that. But I doubt it. I don’t think anyone’s got a fucking clue. As for what shenanigans you and Blake got up to after that, well, I don’t have any proof of any of it. And it’s not my secret to tell.’
Abbi’s eyes glazed over. She was scared, but at the same time, the fear of this predicament was somehow worse than the reality. ‘It’s that simple, is it?’
‘The facts often are.’
* * *
Will walked into the police station, and Blake’s stomach fell to the floor. Blake pushed his office chair out from under him, and crossed his arms. No nerves, no hesitation. The doctor’s self-assurance was annoying. Did he even like Will? Or was he just in awe of his sureness about life?
Blake did a mental stocktake of his friends. He needed to cull a few. No more doormat treatment. ‘I hope you’re here about Hannah. She told me what happened, putting the word on you. She feels stupid about it.’
Will’s chin dipped. ‘So do I. But that’s not why I’m here.’
‘Wait. You need to know something about Hannah.’
‘She cheats on you and you forgive her?’
‘It’s not her fault. Can you see what her parents did to her, hiding her in shame, making her live a lie? Then with her mum gone, her father lost to her, she never got much love. Turned to men for attention. It’s what she does.’
‘She’s had it tough, I get that. But you making excuses for her doesn’t help her change. Besides, I reckon sometimes Hannah just does what suits Hannah.’
Also, true. ‘You’re not exactly in a position to give life advice.’
Will nodded. He was annoying like that. ‘You’re right. On that note, I’d like to issue a statement admitting my assault of Trevor Adler. For the record, this time.’ Will scanned the office. ‘I’ll wait for Penny if I have to. To make sure.’
Blake exhaled. ‘Of course you will.’ Will Adams: the ambassador of truth.
‘It’s short and sweet, but if this gets to court, I won’t perjure myself for anyone. So, you better get your ducks in line, if you know what I mean.’
He looked at the statement. It was brief. Blake’s name wasn’t mentioned. Nor was Abbi’s.
Blake raised his eyebrows.
It might just be simple enough to work. The evidence might be weak enough to dismiss, or let him off with a minor assault charge. It was a reach to conclude murder. Far easier to sweep his death away as an unknown cause. Most of them were in the end.
Blake looked him in the eye. ‘So, should I arrest you now, or later?’
Will nodded. ‘As long as it is made formal, I don’t care. You follow your procedures. Just not in front of Eadie, okay?’
‘I’ll get to it. I’ll be here all night anyway, palming off his mother’s case. Did you hear?’
‘Hear what?’ Will folded his arms.
‘The rock spider’s old lady, Connie Adler.’ Blake welcomed the distraction.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Her carer called it in this afternoon. She was found dead. OD’d.’
‘Jesus.’ Will leant on the front counter.
‘Reckon Mr Kiddie-Fiddler’s mummy knew what he was. She’d written him out of her will, the lawyers reckon.’
Will was gobsmacked. ‘What?’
‘Given it all to her son, Greg.’
‘Who?’
‘Catfish. I interviewed him. Seems he knew about his brother’s habits, too. Bastard.’
‘Bastard.’ Will stared at the wall, deep in thought. ‘He was always yelling at Eadie to stay away. Even on the night of the festival. I just thought he was replying to auditory hallucinations.’
‘Reckon Catfish has got it in him to take out the old bird?’
Will’s looked deep in thought. ‘Enough empathy to euthanise, or enough greed to murder?’
‘Either would do.’
‘I don’t know. He’s hardly the materialistic type. But he cared. I’d see h
im out there, tending to her garden, walking her to the point for fresh air.’
‘Might find she topped herself, living with the knowledge of what Trevor was.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘She had bad arthritis. Her hands were pretty gnarled. I doubt she’d have the strength to open those caps without help. Maybe a sympathetic carer?’
Blake thought of Hannah talking about delivering meals to Connie. Surely not. ‘Who knows. I’m passing it on to Homicide this time. No funding left to handle it here, even if I wanted to.’
Blake got the sense this was the last time they’d talk. That they couldn’t get past all this. ‘How’s Eadie?’
‘Hopefully too young for this to leave a mark for too long.’
‘And you?’ No one ever asks about the dad. Blake had learned that early in policing. Everyone assumes the bloke is fine – it was un-Australian not to cope.
Surprise played on Will’s face. ‘It’s a kind of grief, I guess. A feeling of loss for your child’s sense of safety and trust. I just hope she had enough of it to start with so that this ordeal won’t put her in the red.’
Blake thought of all the family outings he’d tagged along to. Burying Will in sand at the beach, getting lost in a hedge maze, playing putt-putt. If love was all you needed, that girl of his was bulletproof. ‘She was well stocked before.’ Blake approached him, patted him on the back. ‘Mate, you know it was the only way to protect us all.’
‘Us?’
‘Us, Will. I consider you both family. From the second she asked me to go there, this became my problem.’
‘Then why’d you go?’
‘When have I not jumped when she called? I’m a pussy when it comes to your wife. You know that. That’s why I’m leaving, getting out of your hair.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘Meaning what, a transfer out of Lago?’
‘Long service, anyway. Leaving town. I can’t be in her life for a while. I think you know why.’ A moment passed. They shared a look only they could understand.
Will’s face softened. ‘There’ll be other Abbis. Even ones who can cook.’ Will shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘When’s Penny coming in? I want to make sure it’s lodged.’
‘Not till Sunday. I’ll see to it – I mean it this time. If that’s what you want.’
Will nodded, and walked away with his head held high.
Chapter 35
60 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
Blake needed a haircut and a shave. He’d reverted to clichéd bachelor-type behaviour since Hannah had moved out. There had been such a clusterfuck of weird shit come to light these past few weeks – least of all the fact that Hannah had apparently popped out a baby without him noticing – that Blake had become all about the job. Work, work, work. It was the only thing he could rely on.
Detective Sergeant Mason still had Blake’s training room. It had been the best part of a month since the investigation into the foot started, and their cordial relationship was starting to show signs of wear and tear. The fact that one of their team had a habit of reheating sardines for lunch, stinking out the staff room, wasn’t helping.
‘I’ve got court in Brisbane next week. Any chance you guys will be out by the time I get back and I can have my room back?’
Mason sniffed, barely looked up from his screen. ‘Doubt it, mate. Just put in for extra funding, with this abuse angle. Plus, the old bat carking it, Homicide need the room anyway. They’ve found something. Ambos’ call-out to her house, back in April. Paramedic made a statement – said you were there.’
Blake cleared his throat to hide the fear. ‘Yeah, another bloody prank call, as I remember.’ His stomach sank. He thought he’d buried that linkage. But now, with Connie dead, it had risen to the top. Just like the fucking shoe. He felt like he’d been scrambling in quicksand since the festival, and wasn’t any closer to being free. Would this be the connection that buried him? He tapped his pen on the desk to hide the shake.
‘Still worth having a gander, given what the doctor said about the paedo. I thought maybe this Dr Adams did injure him seriously and the victim mighta called the ambos, but doesn’t look like it. We got the voice recording of the emergency call through from headquarters. Triangulated it to a pre-paid; called from South Lago Point tower, nothing more specific – but definitely not from his place – so you’d probably think prank, as you said. Could be a druggo’s drop-phone that some kid found, thought they’d have some fun with. But get this – the voice in the recording, it’s kinda old. And a woman. And pensioners don’t generally prank.’
‘Huh.’ Blake nodded, genuinely baffled. ‘Got a number?’
‘Yep. No longer in use, of course.’
‘You got it there?’ Blake wanted to know who the fuck caused the scene to go so horribly wrong, all those months ago.
‘Why? Want to check it against your little black book?’ Mason joked.
‘Wouldn’t take long,’ Blake said, as Mason scribbled the number on a Post-it and handed it across the desk.
Blake shoved the number in his pocket, went to the staff kitchen and flicked the kettle on. Anything to get out of that room. He keyed the number Mason gave him into his mobile, thinking he’d ring it, just to check. You could get lucky.
He even wondered if it was Will who’d called. Maybe he’d known all along that his so-called ‘light right-hand cuff’ to the arsehole’s jaw was actually a deadly blow to the head, and wanted someone to help the bastard, in a last-minute half-arsed effort to right a wrong. But that wasn’t Will’s style. He acted in broad daylight, to your face.
As Blake plugged the last few digits into his cell, the contact name of the number was recognised, and her photo flashed on the screen. There, in a green box, was the last text that Blake had sent the contact. Don’t forget your big sister’s bday. Any hints for an old fart on what she might need? Cheers.
Lobotomy was all Molly Worthington had replied.
* * *
Not wanting to make a scene, Blake took his own car and wore plain clothes. He wandered through the cobbled paths across to the row of prissy awnings shading the artsy shops. The display shelves at Jay’s Patisserie were mostly empty. The flow of clientele had slowed and just the odd coffee order was still in play. Even the fresh-baked smell from the morning’s bake couldn’t rouse Blake’s appetite. He snuck down the alley to the back of Jay’s shop. Molly’s VW was parked crookedly on the gravel lot, like it was every Thursday. He pulled the beaded curtain aside as he entered the staff-only section, storage boxes and cans of drinks stacked on either side.
Jay caught him out back, and pretended to care. ‘Hey, white boy, you work here now? You stay out front, no?’
‘Just be a sec, woman. I’ll secure the area first.’
‘Ha, ha. You funny man.’
They still thought he was a joke. He shook his head.
‘Caught that axe murderer yet? Sales down since all that, you know?’
‘Working on it, Jay.’
Molly fumbled with a piping bag of meringue, forming a misshapen splat onto a tray of perfect circles. Her mouth opened when she saw him, but no words came out.
‘Can I have a word, Mol?’ His voice sounded like his death-knock voice, and her eyes fluttered.
‘Aren’t we good? I did my hours last month. Didn’t Mabel send the forms?’
‘It’s not about that.’
She held the piping bag up. ‘Is it Dad? I mean, old-Dad?’ Her eyebrows pulled together.
‘He’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.’ He thought she’d run. She had that sketchy way about her. But Molly lowered herself on a stack of flour sacks, the mixture oozing out of the nozzle a little as she flopped her hand and sat. ‘It’s going to be okay, Mol. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. But you have to talk to me. You have to trust me.’
She looked at him. He’d seen that same look on the face of offenders who wanted to collapse into the unburdening relief of confession.
Blake looked straight into
her eyes to show her he was listening. ‘Tell me when it started.’
* * *
Hannah Worthington had been a ghost in Blake’s halls, an empty space in his bed since their fight about arresting Will, and all the secrets between them, but since discovering Molly’s involvement with the case, bigger issues had surpassed those menial problems. He had to inform her of what Molly had been through. Blake knew Hannah was on admin in the office after school on Thursdays. He texted her, made her meet him in the school car park as if she’d forgotten her lunch.
The school grounds were quiet, soulless without the chatter of kids.
She wore a power suit and heels, like armour. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes narrow and cold. The clonk of her shoes clipped the bitumen as he watched, this woman he’d loved half his life, and now felt little for. There was a bitter smile on her face, and she surveyed the car park, empty but for them, as if she’d expected flowers, serenades, something more than just him. ‘You’ve come to tell me you’ve arrested him?’
‘It’s not about that. Not exactly.’
She crossed her arms, one foot forward. ‘If you’re here about us, then I’m not ready to—’
‘I’m not.’ I doubt I ever will.
She sucked her cheeks in and blew out a noisy breath.
It was usually him on this side of their relationship’s ongoing equation. Making that face, a mixture of detachment and desperation – subconsciously wanting her to know he needed her, but his pride forcing him to keep it quiet. Now he had the balance of power, and she was the one making that face. Blake had assumed it felt better to be the one in control, but he was wrong. It felt worse.
He guided her over to a fenced, forgotten vegie garden the students had planted, scrawny tomatoes clinging to yellowing stalks climbing the chain wire. They sat awkwardly on the overlooking bench. Blake took her hand, and told her everything Molly had disclosed that afternoon between the stacks at the bakery.
This time, there was no argument.
Hannah sprang up, covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ She paced to the kitchen. ‘Oh, God, Blake, this is all my fault.’