The Lost Swimmer

by Ann Turner

  Big Boy returned, now stalking Bonnie, barking fiercely. Amid the mayhem I managed to pick up the joey. He was limp but there was a vestige of warmth. Blood dripped into my mouth, which hung open slackly. With the little strength I had left I carried the joey, heading for the house, calling Big Boy to follow. Bonnie was coming at us again, but this time Big Boy attacked as she lunged. I tried to run but the pain was too severe. Lurching like a wounded hobgoblin towards my stairs, looking back I saw Big Boy locked in mortal combat.

  ‘Big Boy!’ I called desperately. ‘Big Boy! Come! Here!’ Everything was a blur. ‘Clarkey! Clarkey! Help!’ With a thud I saw that his car was not there. No neighbouring lights shone through the gloom in any direction.

  ‘Help! Help!’ I shouted into the empty shadows as I took the stairs one by one in aching grinds and heard Big Boy fighting with Bonnie below, a cacophony of pain and brutality, growling and shrieking, the sounds intermingled into one hellish song.

  It took all my effort to slide the glass door open, my body erupting in flames. I staggered inside and put the limp, blood-soaked joey on the floor. I moved as fast as I could into the kitchen and snatched a towel. As I came back, Big Boy slumped down onto the deck outside. ‘Thank God,’ I exhaled. Big Boy watched exhausted through glazed eyes, his body a dark mess. I grabbed the phone and called Ian Sinclair, our vet.

  Forcing myself to remain conscious, the joey lying weakly in my blood-red lap, I reached my broken ribs upward and slid the door wide enough for Big Boy to limp inside. Without a glance at the joey he dragged himself into a nearby corner and fell into a sickly sleep. He looked like a can-opener had ripped him apart. A thumping made me turn in alarm. Bonnie had come around the back and was staring inside, one ear hanging torn and loose, her throat a fuchsia gash of blood and pale, exposed bone. She wailed, a high, reedy cry of despair as she leaped forward and began scratching at the glass with her powerful claws. She moved along the window, tail thumping, her high keening growing more urgent. Big Boy staggered up, barking furiously. I looked at the joey; it was desperately in need of care. Why did I think I was more capable of helping than its mother? Just then a car roared up the drive and moments later Ian raced inside.

  ‘Bec!’ He rushed to tend to me first.

  ‘No, no. The joey and Big Boy and the mother.’ I indicated outside to Bonnie.

  ‘You should see yourself.’ His confident hands gently felt my ribs. ‘You’re a mess. Have you called an ambulance?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ I murmured, suddenly beyond rational thought as a deep tiredness overwhelmed and blackness rushed up, extinguishing light and pain. The last thing I heard was an unearthly howl from Bonnie and a volley of raw, strangled barks from Big Boy as my world collapsed around me.

  10

  Something was weighing me down. Tears sprang, salty and sharp, as I saw that it was Stephen holding my hand. Outside, the long rays of sun on the hill were mellowing to evening.

  ‘Hey.’ Stephen’s brown eyes, dulled with concern, came alive. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said as I gently touched my bandages, white with yellow seeping through, and my skin flared like an inferno beneath my prying fingers.

  ‘Big Boy?’ I rasped, my throat parched.

  ‘Ian stitched him up. He’s keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘And the joey and Bonnie? Will they be okay?’

  ‘Ian has them. They’re doing well.’

  I sighed with relief and my body ached. The grotesque bite on my arm from Big Boy throbbed.

  ‘You have four broken ribs,’ said Stephen gently.

  ‘I guessed as much.’ I scrutinised Stephen – there was something different about him and he seemed tense.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ I asked and he bolted upright as if I’d just shot him.

  ‘Nothing. Here with you.’

  ‘Did you go to work?’

  He nodded. ‘Just a couple of meetings that I couldn’t get out of. Clarkey came over. And Sally Chesser came when Clarkey had to go.’

  ‘But we barely know her.’ Or do you know her better than I think?

  ‘She rang to thank us for the barbecue and wanted to help. Oh, and Priscilla sends her regards.’

  ‘What are you doing talking to Priscilla?’ I tried to sit up but the pain knocked me down.

  Stephen sighed. ‘I told her you wouldn’t be in.’ He paused and squeezed my hand. ‘And no, I’m not having an affair with her. What goes on in that head of yours sometimes?’ Said with so much warmth that more tears seeped out. I prayed I could believe him as he kissed my lips softly and I tasted his sweet breath.

  ‘You should rest, the doctor gave you a heavy painkiller.’ As he stroked my brow sleep nibbled at the edges of my mind, even as I tried to resist.

  • • •

  The morning was fresh and cool, with the promise of autumn. Big Boy walked shakily into the room and for the first time I felt fear as our eyes met. The dog lowered his head, about to growl. Tentatively, I reached out my hand, ignoring the fire running up my arm from his deep puncture wound. For a moment nothing happened. Stephen stood quietly behind, watchful. Then Big Boy’s tail started frantically beating from side to side, he let out a yelp and came stiffly dancing over, crabbing about, twisting like a worm as he barked happily. He was bandaged in several places. We looked like twins. Stephen lifted him up onto the bed and the three of us lay together, listening to the raucous laughter of kookaburras rippling through the bush.

  I nestled into Stephen as best I could with my aching ribs and Big Boy pushed gently against my body, stretching to his full length so he was almost as long as me.

  ‘The gang’s all here,’ I murmured, and fell back into the deepest sleep.

  • • •

  ‘My god, Mum.’

  I woke to Erin gently touching the wounds on my face. ‘The kangaroo sure made a mess of you.’ She picked up my arm and I winced. ‘And is this what Big Boy did?’ The dog lay looking up at Erin, grinning. ‘You both look terrible.’ She gently stroked the soft white hair on Big Boy’s belly.

  ‘I don’t know what got into him. He went berserk.’

  ‘He is a dog. It must have been some sort of instinct. Not to bite you, though.’

  ‘He didn’t mean to do that,’ I said.

  Every time I moved, my ribs flared in agony. ‘Is Dad here?’

  ‘He’s at work. It’s three in the afternoon.’

  ‘The painkillers knock me out.’

  ‘You’re awake.’ James stuck his head through the doorway. ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘You’re here too? Or am I dreaming?’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ James disappeared and Erin tucked the sheet around me, her impish face lined with concern.

  ‘Don’t you have pressing deadlines? You shouldn’t be wasting time with me.’

  ‘We’re just staying for dinner, Mum. I’m cooking. Then James will drive us home.’

  ‘When was it you grew up so fast?’ I said gratefully. ‘Are you still seeing Jeremy?’

  Erin shrugged. ‘A bit. Not much.’ She started fussing with the wound on my arm, clearly not wanting to talk about it. ‘I just can’t imagine Big Boy doing this. And that poor joey and mother.’

  ‘Thank goodness they’re all right . . .’ My voice trailed off. I felt guilty. ‘Big Boy probably saved my life,’ I said.

  ‘Even if he was the one who put it at risk in the first place,’ said Erin.

  Big Boy barked twice, tail flying back and forth.

  ‘I should have had him on the leash,’ I said. ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mum.’ James deposited the tea and sat at my feet. I rested back into the pillows and gave them a blow-by-blow description, wondering if I was inventing things; shock had blurred my memory of the evening, except for the moment when the dog I trusted implicitly had turned on me.

  • • •

  One week later I could get up, dosed on painkillers and anti-inflammatory pills. It felt like k
nives slicing through me as I walked, but once Stephen had left for the day, I went to my computer and trawled through the accounts.

  I approached the task as I would a dig – carefully sifting through all that was there in the hope of discovering what had happened. There was a maze of different lines in the accounts – ‘strings’ as we called them. After several hours I found a disturbing trend, hidden deep in the files. I’d missed it before because it was lying within sections of other accounts. Some of the strings had shadow strings in which money meant for the first account had been deposited into its twin or triplet. The original Athens account was the simplest to unravel. Half the students who had gone on the most recent Athens intensive had deposited the money for their trip into this account set up by Pam and signed off on by me. The other half had deposited their money into the Athens 2 account – which seemingly had been authorised by me too. But where Athens 3 had got its money from remained unclear.

  Alarmingly, portions of my colleagues’ grants had also been siphoned into the Athens 2 account, and also into other shadowy accounts that stalked legitimate ones. I was sickened to see my own X account had colleagues’ money in it.

  Other sums had gone back into legitimate accounts making up the lost amount, like a complex Ponzi scheme. No wonder Alison had picked up irregularities. I could see now why she had to cover her own position. Many of the legitimate accounts were ones that she would have presented to me for authorisation.

  The logic of the perpetrator was elusive, as mysterious as the gold ibex of Santorini. Who could have done this? I was intrigued to find out.

  I flicked through the photocopied records obsessively, willing myself to remember signing them. But I couldn’t. I genuinely believed I hadn’t. But then, the investigators claimed the signature had been verified as mine, and it certainly looked like mine. A brilliant fake. And not for the first time in history. The world was flooded with fakes – even in archaeology we could be fooled. For every legitimate enterprise, there were those waiting to do the quick rip-off. I just hadn’t expected it at Coastal. And I hadn’t expected to be the victim.

  I reached for my phone and excruciating pain shot from my ribs to my shoulder. Ignoring it, I looked through the address book and found Loris Gant’s number. A professor at Melbourne University, Loris was a handwriting expert. He was a trusted colleague whom I knew from inter-university research committees and crucially, he would keep the matter confidential.

  When he picked up, I gave him minimal information, just that I needed a forensic analysis of the signatures and would provide my own legitimate signature with them. I told him I wanted to pay the full cost, no favours. Loris said four thousand dollars was the rate. I gave him the go-ahead.

  Over the next few days I made comprehensive lists of staff who could be embezzling, noting everyone who had sought authorisations from me. It read like a Who’s Who of the School, everyone at senior lecturer level and higher. Even Josie and Pam were on my list. And then I had to add Rachel. Melinda too – papers were often left on her desk for me to sign. I didn’t think that any of these colleagues were criminals who would perpetrate such a financial web. I kept following the strings regardless, like Theseus following Ariadne’s magical thread in the labyrinth, trying to find the way out.

  So far Coastal had been professional. I felt that no one outside the investigation had heard anything, including Stephen. And the further into the fraudulent accounts I went, the more I wanted to sort it out on my own, not bring him into it. Particularly if, despite his denials, he was seeing Priscilla behind my back. The thought made my ribs burn – not only at the thought of him with Priscilla, but that I didn’t want to turn to him for advice – the person I’d relied on for over two decades. I took more painkillers. Priscilla was high on my list of suspects and I wasn’t going to have Stephen unwittingly feed her information if my worst fears were correct.

  For breaks I would go through Stephen’s computer checking his emails, scouring for evidence of an affair. There was nothing incriminating, but I did get an insight into his managerial practices, which showed me just how much more corporate and conservative he had become in the past months.

  I asked our phone company to supply an online breakdown of all calls on our bills. I checked for stray numbers on Stephen’s phone that he dialled repeatedly, ringing those I didn’t know. They were work-related people and I was deeply uncomfortable as I prattled on, apologising for getting the wrong number.

  I wrote to Margaret DiStasio and informed her that I wanted to assist in every way possible and had gone through the books and found more irregularities. She sent back a short, official reply: she would be contacting me in due course. Because I had acted as an investigator on other cases, I knew she normally wouldn’t approach me until she’d gathered all her evidence. Ultimately with what was being uncovered in this fraud, whomever they found guilty would be turned over to the police for a criminal investigation. If they decided it was me, I could be stripped of everything. My job. My title. In a nightmare scenario, even my freedom. I needed to ensure I gave them all the information I found to convince them I was on their side and not the perpetrator.

  • • •

  ‘Yoo-hoo, anyone home?’

  Sally’s voice trilled from the bottom of the stairs and Big Boy returned a volley of friendly barks. I quickly closed Stephen’s computer and rose, my ribs aching from the sudden movement.

  ‘Just a sec!’ Did she mishear me? The sound of the door sliding open and the tapping of her shoes on the timber floor made me hurry.

  ‘Hello, darling poochie babe.’ Big Boy yapped back as though chatting.

  ‘Sally, how nice.’

  ‘Hope I didn’t get you up? I feel it’s been ages since I saw you and do you know I’ve just moved two streets away? Eagle Crescent, the other side of the golf club.’

  ‘Really? Where were you before?’

  ‘Geelong. Much quieter here. The air’s so fresh I feel ten years younger.’ She looked it too, radiant in a slip of a dress, tanned arms lean and strong. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you but then I thought surely there’s something I can do. Perhaps some grocery shopping?’

  ‘The local supermarket delivers everything. Even puts the heavy things straight in the fridge. So does the butcher. You’ve moved to a good area,’ I smiled.

  ‘How about this one? I could take him for a W-A-L-K?’ Big Boy sat eagerly at her feet.

  ‘Actually, that would be good. I can’t go very far, and Stephen’s so busy.’

  ‘Done. Now, how about I make you a cup of tea?’

  It was frustrating having her so close but not trusting her enough to tell her my legal troubles. I kept reminding myself it wouldn’t be her area anyway. But she was smart. Why was my instinct saying keep away?

  Sally passed me a fragrant mug of tea.

  ‘I added honey. For good health.’ She held a glowing golden jar to the light. ‘I found it at the organic shop.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful.’

  To my surprise Sally waved a large ring under my nose, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you about this. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s beautiful.’ I spotted the gems as fake the instant I saw them. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Athens, a couple of years ago. It’s about a hundred times more than I’ve ever spent on jewellery.’

  ‘Well, it’s a treasure.’ I didn’t have the strength to break the bad news. The shops in Athens were notorious for their counterfeit jewels and the well-honed pleas of the shopkeepers who hung outside, waiting to lure the next unsuspecting tourist. Another fake staring me in the face – the world really was full of them.

  Sally gave me an odd look, as though she didn’t quite believe me. I tried not to blush under her gaze. ‘You must love it,’ I continued.

  Finally she smiled. ‘Yes, very much.’

  I wasn’t sure whether I’d just passed or failed a test, and it made me uneasy.


  ‘Well, I’d better get this fella to the beach.’ Big Boy leaped up and clattered about, nails scrabbling across the floor.

  ‘Didn’t you want to ask me something about the ring?’

  ‘Oh,’ she turned, ‘I just wanted to know if the rubies and emeralds were real. I’ve read since that Athens can be a tricky place.’

  I paused. ‘You could always take it to a gemologist.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘But you’re an expert, aren’t you?’

  ‘At dating things. Using very sophisticated equipment. The ring’s new,’ I said. ‘You didn’t think it was ancient, did you?’

  Sally laughed gaily. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘It’s a Byzantine design, a lovely one.’ I fetched Big Boy’s leash to barks of excitement.

  Sally held the ring happily to the light. It was indeed a pretty fake. ‘Come on, Big Boy! Back soon.’ She winked as she left.

  ‘Would you like to stay for dinner?’ I called as an afterthought.

  ‘Not tonight, Bec, thanks anyway,’ she lilted.

  I was relieved when she disappeared down the stairs. Was I becoming paranoid or had there been more to the conversation than its immediate topic? Was Sally trying to catch me in a lie? And if so, why? And why hadn’t I just come out and told her the gems were fake? I hadn’t wanted to hurt her but now I regretted it, because it made me look deceptive. Truth was growing increasingly elusive and I was contributing; if I went down that path, I could get tangled in my own lies.

  11

  It was a brilliant autumn morning, the sky a deep, infinite blue. Crisp air hinted at cold nights and log fires just around the corner. I had called two days earlier and set the appointment, hoping I would be well enough to venture out alone for the first time since the attack. I was still dosed on painkillers but they were weaker and my doctor had given me the all clear to drive.