by Kylie Kaden
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘I was. She came to me when she was about ten or eleven. She tried to tell me. I can still feel her tugging on my arm. She kept asking me not to bring Trevor to the house, that he was a weirdo. I thought she was just jealous that he paid me more attention.’ Her shoulders hunched. ‘I got mad at her for being rude.’ Tears streamed, but she seemed unaware.
Blake stood beside her. He listened. It was all he could do.
Then it hit him – Hannah wasn’t reacting like a sister. She was as gutted as a mother.
‘The funny thing was, he always wanted to meet at my place – saying his mother didn’t like strangers. He always visited me. Molly started nicking off, riding to the library whenever his car arrived. Not long after that, he broke it off with me.’
Her face was pallid, her hand trembling as she reached for her mouth, and looked over to Blake. ‘The whole time. The whole time I was with that rotten piece of shit, it wasn’t me he wanted.’ She rushed to the garden and threw up.
He waited until the initial shock faded, before he hit her with the second wave. ‘Hannah?’ He swallowed. ‘That’s not all.’
* * *
That afternoon, Blake sat on flour sacks with Molly behind the bakery for over an hour. It was disturbing how Molly spoke of Trevor Adler; describing a morbid fascination, with only a vague notion of the boundaries he’d crossed. How she’d misconceived the physical relationship as normal until she was old enough to distinguish right from wrong. That the insidious, emotional manipulation she’d endured made her think of their intimacy as natural. As loving.
But then it stopped. He discarded her at puberty. He retired, quit public life. Molly’s feelings towards her abuser morphed into a perplexing, twisted attraction that lasted years. She’d watched over him. Obsessed over him. Vandalised his property. She cringed at the thought of being close again. Then, as she got older, she felt the incessant need to look out for other girls in her wake. She just couldn’t seem to stay away.
Blake braced himself for what he was about to tell the poor girl. ‘From what you’ve said, Mol, I know you have mixed feelings about this man, but I’m afraid I have to tell you there were other victims. That he got to Eadie.’ Blake’s voice warped, but he pulled it straight. ‘That Eadie’s dad has confessed to an altercation with him after catching him in the act, that Trevor died as a result.’
Molly startled. ‘Why would he say that? Will didn’t kill him.’
Blake’s mouth fell open. ‘What makes you think that?’
Molly looked up at him, all matter of fact. ‘Because I did.’
Chapter 36
THE DAY OF THE MOON FESTIVAL
Molly didn’t remember how she’d got to Gwen’s cottage. She must have walked the few blocks from Spinifex Crescent to Howard Lane. She must have knocked on the door.
The last thing she was sure of was that calm had settled over her, feet frozen, eyes fixed, as she watched him writhe on the ground, gasping for breath, his lips swollen like botched Botox, his eyes tiny slits peeking through puffball eyes.
It was cathartic, in a way, to feel commanding in his presence.
She couldn’t help but see the irony, as he squeezed out the barely audible word.
‘EpiPen.’
To be granted the ultimate control, the power to allow him to live, was like ice in her veins. Adrenalin – the very substance he’d so often rallied in her for so many years – was the one thing he needed from her. The auto-injector was right there for the taking. She’d seen it given at school. A ten-second jab in the leg was all it took for fifteen minutes of further life, till she got help. She knew she should do it. That’s what nice girls like her did. She ordered her arms to reach for it, but they hung motionless by her side, unwilling. Her eyes wouldn’t waver from his – watching them redden and swell as his face flushed and sweated.
Vomit trickled from his mouth in vile rivers. He’d probably stop breathing soon from that alone.
He stilled.
She stepped over his lifeless body, and left without a backward glance.
As if wading through a cloud, she wandered down the hill, through the cow paddock, across the bridge to Lago central, with little conscious awareness of what came next. Moths stalked street lamps. Starlight wrestled with the moon, as she walked, zombie-like through town.
Her car was still waiting faithfully in the gravel lot at the bakery where she’d helped Jay pack for the festival. The festival; it would never be the same. The thought of getting inside, tapping the dash to start the engine and going about her life seemed ridiculous. The tranquil place she had been floating in, suddenly sucked away, and the reality of what she’d done, or failed to do, hit her like a shockwave. Shallow breaths. Heart racing. Total panic.
Then, at the door of the home she so often found comfort in, Gwen’s face was stricken, her hand pressed to her mouth in horror as Molly repeated the words, ‘I think I killed him.’ But Gwen’s shock was short lived, as a stoic pragmatism found its way through the woman’s fear. Gwen grabbed some water for Molly, rubbing her back to slow her breaths, asking selective, closed questions. ‘Are you sure he’s dead?’
Molly paused from her ugly sobs and thought for a second. Was she? ‘He couldn’t breathe – he had so many allergies. Who knows what set him off, but he was gasping, and then he was vomiting and then he … Then he just … stopped.’ Tears filled Molly’s eyes.
‘Okay. Okay. This is good.’ Gwen stumbled for the phone. ‘I’ll call an ambulance. He might have just … passed out. Maybe they can still help.’
Molly nodded. Gwen would fix it. They would revive him. Then what? He’d tell them. Tell them she was there and didn’t help. But it would be her word against his. ‘Wait. No. Not from your phone.’
Gwen looked at Molly like she didn’t know who she was, but failed to protest as Molly grabbed her mobile phone from her pocket and dialled triple zero. ‘It’s a pre-paid from Aldi. They can’t trace it. The dealers do it all the time.’
Gwen took the phone from Molly. ‘What street number is he?’
‘Fifty-two. But you can’t say—’
‘Is his mother still there?’
‘I guess. She never leaves.’
Gwen placed the phone to her ear and gestured for Molly to hush. ‘Ambulance required … Yes … I’ve had a fall. The address is fifty-two Spinifex Crescent. The little green house. Please hurry.’ Gwen hung up, without any further explanation.
They sat and waited for an ambulance to blaze through town, but the night was still.
Molly wasn’t sure if she wanted them to rush to him, or not. ‘I haven’t heard the sirens. They might think it’s a prank.’
‘Prank? Who would do such a thing?’
Molly raised her eyebrows.
Gwen shook her head. ‘What I don’t get, Molly, is what you were even doing in his house? Will said you were working at the festival.’
‘I was. I met Jake and some others after, down at the beach. You can see the back shed on his property. I saw Eadie go in.’
‘From all the way down the beach?’
‘Her shoes. They had little flashing lights. I could see them racing through his yard and I panicked. I couldn’t let him near her alone. By the time I scrambled up the beach path to get her away from him, Will was out in his yard trying to squeeze through the hole in the fence. I figured she’d be safe then, so I hid for a bit. I watched. I heard yelling, Abbi turned up and a few minutes later they all left. Abbi was wailing. I could tell Trev got to her. He got to her, too.’
‘Oh, my Lord.’
‘I couldn’t let him get away with it. I was going to tell him I wasn’t afraid anymore, that I’d tell this time. That it should have ended with me, but I was scared to go in. I sat on the beach and cried. I just wish I’d dobbed him in years ago, and saved her from him. The thought of poor Eadie – it made me so angry I barged in there after all but he was on the floor by then.’
‘You were
too late, love. It’s not your fault.’
She burst into tears, and Gwen cradled her in her arms. ‘I was too late. Too late for her.’
Chapter 37
61 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
Their beach house always made Abbi feel like they’d scored the best box seats inside the auditorium of life. She got to watch nature perform every day from her kitchen sink. As she wiped her outdoor table clean, and cleared it of used glasses, Abbi Adams couldn’t help but remember the stale beer and chime of pokies from her younger waitressing years. The worst loneliness was the kind you felt when surrounded by crowds.
Now the sensory backdrop to her life was the wind in her hair, waves like a distant jet in her ears, the slow, steady rain on the roof, purifying the world for another day. Now she worked for love, not money.
Footsteps on the deck. Hannah on the welcome mat at the top of the side stairs. Abbi sighed, a bitter tang in her mouth. ‘You.’ She tried to reconcile the cheeky, brazen girl with whom she’d shared the news of her first period, her first pash, her first love, with the husband-stealing, sad woman who’d covered up her own child as if she were a crime. ‘Hannah, if you’re coming to tell us to come clean, you’re too late. He’s done that. There’s nothing to hide anymore.’
‘Abbi—’
‘Wait – before you get on your box, you don’t know what it’s like, Hannah. To have a predator like that infiltrate your little girl.’ Abbi felt her stomach contract with the thought. ‘To destroy her innocence, her trust in people.’
‘I do.’
Abbi wanted to roll her eyes, but resisted. A couple of psychology subjects and she thinks she knows it all.
‘He got to Molly, too.’
Hannah’s face was so wet, the light so patchy it took Abbi a moment to realise her visitor was upset. A sudden sense of dread hit Abbi at her core, her head jerking forward. ‘What?’
Hannah started babbling. ‘She tried to tell me, when she was little. When I was dating him. I only just put the pieces together.’ Hannah almost choked the words out. ‘Oh God, I can’t even say it without wanting to vomit.’
Abbi’s hands rushed to her lips. ‘God, Hannah. I’m sorry.’
‘I remember him making her a wooden doll when she was about ten. She told him she was too old for dolls and I yelled at her for being rude and sent her to her room. Can you believe that?’
‘You can’t blame yourself. I lived next door to him for years and had no clue. Never crossed my mind. You always think they’ll look shifty.’ Abbi thought back to Molly babysitting Eadie, staying in their house alone, next door to that man. Had she ever shown signs of fear? Or is that why she was so vigilant?
‘She went to that church youth group he volunteered at sometimes till she was twelve. Who knows how long it had been happening? Or if it’s happened since? She won’t talk to me, only Blake.’
Abbi ran to her, placed an arm around her back. Hannah was as rigid as a mannequin, but Abbi failed to retreat. She held her, until she felt her firm muscles relax beneath her embrace. ‘All you can do is be there for her now. Encourage her to become who she wants to be, not let this define who she is.’
They sat on the bench, comforting each other, sinking into their common grief for their daughters. ‘He wanted to change. The cops found him using a fake name. He’d been seeing a psychiatrist for years, to help. I mean, I hate the bastard, but I keep thinking of what he went through too, you know? Hormone therapy, suicidal ideation, self-loathing.’
Will had told Abbi he’d been haunted by the last words Trevor said to him in that shed: ‘No one wants to be a monster,’ and Abbi felt a sliver of empathy course through her. A sliver. The moment she thought of his hands on her daughter, it faded. ‘Okay, he got dealt a shit hand, for whatever reason, but there is always a choice. Life is a series of choices, one after the next. When he chose to act on his impulse, to abuse an innocent child, he made the wrong one.’
‘I’m not trying to excuse it. I’m trying to understand it.’
‘There is no rational explanation for it.’ Abbi looked at her. Could she really blame Hannah for her attempt at understanding? She admired her, on some level. She was the better person for it. Abbi couldn’t see past what he did.
The two women looked out at the ocean. Abbi gazed up at the star-filled sky, hoping their woes would feel insignificant under its immensity.
Hannah blew her nose. A loud foghorn that nearly made Abbi laugh, the noise was so ridiculous.
Abbi felt the dawning of a new understanding between them, but she wondered whether it was all too broken to fix. ‘I still can’t get over you hiding a pregnancy from me.’
Hannah shrugged. ‘You hid a body from me.’
Abbi looked down her nose at her, but decided to call it even. ‘How are things with Blake?’
‘Over. But you know what? I think it’s not such a bad thing.’ Abbi could tell Hannah was talking herself into it, and nodded supportively to add to her conviction. ‘I can see now I was just using him to tick off my bucket list – to settle down with someone, and he was the most likely candidate. I just wanted to stop wondering about what my life would look like, and start living it. But you can’t force these things.’
‘I don’t think life ever settles down. If anything, having kids stirs it up. How is Molly adjusting to the news? I can’t imagine.’
‘She’s actually pretty amazing. I don’t know where she gets that from – a healthy coping mechanism. Must be from Andy.’
‘Christmas holidays Andy?’ Abbi gave a knowing smile, and felt slightly happier that she at least had heard of the father of Hannah’s child.
Hannah’s eyes danced when she spoke of him, and the two women chatted as if this wasn’t the worst week of their lives. Hannah looked like she was actually listening, instead of just waiting for Abbi to finish. Now she said, ‘I really do regret not being around more for Molly. And for you, when Eadie was born. I had a miscarriage, five years ago. That’s why I couldn’t come home, be around for you and Blake, around a new baby. It was bad enough, having lost so much of Molly, and then to lose another baby completely.’
Abbi’s stomach dropped. ‘Oh, Hans. I had no idea. I feel like a complete arse now.’ She hadn’t realised Hannah wanted a baby, let alone grieved the loss of two. Will was right. She’d been harsh. Hannah was a good egg, underneath the layers of opinionated, insecure twat. And she was going to make a good mother – if only a little belated.
‘While we’re listing confessions, I’m sorry I cracked onto your husband. I’m a dirty rotten cow. I just wanted to have what you had, just for a minute. I’m a shit mother, a shit friend.’
A tingle swept up the back of Abbi’s neck. ‘The girl I used to know was pretty cool. The one who didn’t care much what other people thought, and had faith in herself. She was kind. She was fun. And I think Molly deserves that woman as her mum.’
‘I don’t know where she went.’ Hannah wiped tears from her face.
‘Then find her.’
Chapter 38
80 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
The air-conditioner kicked in with a hum as Blake looked around the room that had been the headquarters of the investigation. For the past few months, it had been as chaotic as his life; a bustle of caffeine-fuelled CIB and intel staff crammed around whiteboards, computers and phones, stealing his milk and leaving skid marks in his toilet as they conducted their search for justice.
Now it was just him, a clear table, a blank whiteboard. They were at the pointy end of the investigation into Trevor Adler’s death – the funding, the leads all but dried up and staff numbers diminished, even Mason was only there half the time. Blake had done all he could to steer the facts to the right end. All he could do now was hope.
At the order of senior management, Mason and two Homicide fellas from Gympie who had travelled up with Senior Detective Sergeant Miller found their chairs and set their disposable cups on the table. Blake had spent the past few weeks taki
ng over some of the grunt work from Mason, who had taken a month’s leave after the birth of his first kid. He’d done it better than either of them had expected. Blake had gained Miller’s respect, and all was in order for the Adler case to bite the dust.
Miller approached Blake and shook his hand.
Mason filed in behind him but went straight to his chair. Blake knew his sort, the type whose favourite hobby was watching a lowly local fail. But there’d be none of that today. What’s more, while Blake might have guided things more than was proper, left out a certain night searching for a body in a lake, he hadn’t even had to stretch the relevant facts. The truth was all he needed.
Miller called them to the table, and the group silenced. ‘Gentlemen. Firstly, I’d like to thank Sergeant Newell for doing the lion’s share of the grunt work to help finalise this case, and secondly, how’s the new bub, Mase?’
‘Pooing like a champ, sir.’
‘Glad those days are behind me.’
‘Sure they are, sir? Retirement’s not far off, is it?’ The bloke was as brave as he was fidgety.
Miller continued. ‘As you’re all familiar with this case, I’ll just summarise things. You’ll see a statement from the local quack, who admitted assaulting the deceased after witnessing him defiling his daughter after she wandered away at that Moon Parade thing they do up here. He was charged with assault; however, the charges were later dropped under 269, provocation. I think we’d all agree any ordinary bloke who caught a rock spider working his web would lose it.’
The balding detective looked sceptical. ‘Hang on. The bloke’s dead. How do we know what happened? Do we know for sure the bloke was a kiddie-fiddler? Were there other witnesses to the crime?’
‘Doc’s wife, for one. Paedo’s mother’s suicide note that apologises to all victims of her son’s “evil ways”, and may I direct you to the sworn statement from a local teen, Molly Worthington, detailing the systemic abuse she suffered at the hands of the deceased. Turns out, she used to stalk the guy, heard some commotion on her way home, found him gasping for breath – either a heart attack or anaphylactic response, out by the back of his shed. She panicked, and ran to get help at a friend’s home, that of ah …’ He shuffled through some paperwork. ‘Gwendoline Andrews, who immediately called for medical attention.’