It was just after nine and inspired by my daring purchases, I decided to brave Shay’s CDs. I slipped Pink into the computer. My first thought was, Oh dear, not rock. I listened to the first few tracks, wincing, the music too harsh, but then, I’d hardly listened to music in the last ten years. The title track caught my attention. I’m not dead. I giggled to myself. I’m not dead yet, but that music nearly did the job.
I wasn’t game to try Fergie. Time to call it a night.
I woke gasping for breath, the sheets covering my face. My mobile displayed 4.37am. I’d dreamed about Rena Stanowski, a missing person from 12 years back when I was a senior constable. Her photo, the one that made national news and papers, was clearly etched on my brain: her great smile, executive shirt and string of pearls. The wife and mother went missing one evening on her way home from work. All evidence pointed to suicide: she was being treated for depression and had disclosed to her counsellor that she’d considered suicide. She had recently made a will, seemed less depressed in the fortnight before her disappearance, and had made contact with old friends, which all suggested she had come to terms with ending her life. My boss wasn’t satisfied with the suicide angle, but had no other leads. Within a few months of the search being called off, her husband started seeing another woman and my boss became suspicious, but it went nowhere. The husband claimed that he missed Rena and said the new woman reminded him of her. Two years later, the burnt-out shell of Rena’s executive sedan was discovered by a bushwalker in dense forest. Her husband was convicted of murder, his lover an accessory.
Melissa’s case was doing my head in.
I feared the aluminium roof would open at any moment to the angry, wet sky. I made a cup of tea and drank it by the sliding glass door, watching as sheets of rain, illuminated by the exterior sensor light, flew horizontally. I shivered as the cold wind curled and swirled through the gaps in the door’s aluminium frame. With nothing else to do, I went back to bed and stared at the dark ceiling until my fatigue was overwhelming.
By the time I looked at the clock again, I had only five minutes to shower and dress before Jenny arrived. The rain was still bucketing down. By the time I ran from my front door to the car, the back of my shirt was soaked. As Jenny reversed out, Maggie from next door waved from her front step. I waved back. She dropped a bag of rubbish into the wheelie bin under the awning.
‘You’ve still got bollum in your eye,’ said Jenny as I rubbed my eyes.
‘Bollum?’
‘Sleep. And you’ve yawned three times.’
I told her about my dream, omitting names.
‘The Stanowski case? You were on the Stanowski case?’
‘You know it?’
‘That case made headlines.’ She shook her head. ‘This will make headlines too if Melissa is not found soon, dead or alive. Not the best way to start a job.’
‘I keep hoping someone will tell me it’s an April Fools’ joke.’
Jenny chuckled. ‘You create your own reality.’
‘That sounds cosmic. Did you make it up?’
‘I read it on your desk calendar when I went to answer the phone. Nothing important, just a wrong number. Want to know about Melissa’s lover, Dave Garland?’ I nodded. ‘European, 49, married to a local woman, Leilani Isi, two daughters. Arrived ’83, first teaching post on TI, three years later made principal of the high school. Two years ago transferred to the primary school to fix up a range of problems – poor outcomes, attendance, behaviour. He turned the school around within two years. Can you believe it?’ She looked at me. ‘Never been done before. Just this Australia Day, he was awarded an OAM for his service to education in the Torres Strait.’
I was impressed. I’d read reports in The Cairns Post about poor educational outcomes in the Torres Strait without paying too much attention. It was a case of same old, same old, poor outcomes for Indigenous people in education, health, employment and criminal justice. I’d skimmed stuff in the papers about a new style of teaching in the Torres Strait that was supposed to work wonders. My mother and father, both retired teachers, always had their two cents to say about each article or documentary. Education was one of the few topics they still spoke to each other about.
‘Masalgi, do you remember that report in the late sixties?’ said Dad to Mum, while reading one such article last year. ‘Forty years on and nothing has changed.’
Mum cursed the lowering of standards and Dad said something about reinventing the wheel. They could have been talking about any Indigenous issue.
As Jenny pulled into an undercover area, I figured that Dave Garland had achieved an admirable result and good on him. Indigenous kids deserved the best and, finally, someone had made it happen.
The undercover area didn’t provide any relief from the rain that flew in sideways with the wind. I followed Jenny along a maze of paths and we ended up in the staffroom, face to face with the solid-featured Dave Garland, whose eyes were the same pale grey as his crew cut. Age had been very kind to Mr Garland. He introduced himself with a handshake of steel, apparently well recovered from his gastro wog.
He and Jenny chatted about fishing and Fred losing the last three pool comps to Jonah, who I think Shay had mentioned.
I apologised for disrupting his Easter but he said he always came in on weekends to catch up on work. He had charisma, presence, whatever you call it, directing all his attention to me when he spoke in a deep, convincing voice. I bet he had done several personal development courses, like how to win friends and influence people. And probably one on how to charm younger, vulnerable women. Oh, supremely suspicious one, Thea.
I mimed writing on my hand so Jenny would take notes.
‘I didn’t sleep last night after hearing about Melissa,’ he said. ‘Please, take a seat.’ He motioned to some lounge chairs. ‘I know why you’re here. I’ll be honest,’ he said as he held his hands up in surrender. I bet he also learnt in those personal development courses to admit defeat to a lesser wrong to slither out of the really bad shit. ‘We were having an affair, but I have no idea where she is. Her husband told you about the affair?’
‘No.’
‘But she told him a month ago.’
‘She told you she told him? When did you last see her?’
‘Wednesday night. She came to my house because my wife and daughters were away. She would have told her husband she was going to the CWA meeting.’ He forced a laugh. ‘It was very deceitful, as affairs are, and I was never comfortable with the dishonesty.’
‘Can you tell us what happened? How was her mood?’
‘We shared a bottle of wine, a 2008 chardonnay I’d bought especially for her, and she left to walk home at about 11pm. Maybe later, I’m not sure. I had to be up early to catch the first ferry to Horn for the annual Easter principals’ meeting on Darnley Island.’
‘When did the affair start?’
Dave shot me a look of muffled irritation and then relaxed his face. ‘Mid last year. I was working on a funding application to send some of the special needs students on an excursion to Cairns with their carers. It was the first program of its kind. As the teacher aide in the special education unit, Melissa offered to help. Due to the complexity of the project, the planning took longer than expected and we met some evenings.’ Dave alternated between leaning forward and then sitting up straight and stretching out, as if conscious that he needed to appear calm. When he leaned forward, the point of what appeared to be a deep red cut protruded above the V of his polo shirt.
‘And the affair evolved from there?’
‘Yes,’ he said, drawing out the word.
‘Melissa was diagnosed with depression five months ago. Did she say anything about how she was feeling?’
Dave was either genuinely surprised or very good at faking it. The only thing he claimed to remember was her saying something about her husband neglecting her. Dave went on to explai
n that he and his wife had drifted apart some time ago since she was consumed by family and cultural commitments. And, of course, he was flattered by Melissa’s attention.
‘In hindsight, we were attracted to each other because my wife and Melissa’s husband had other priorities, his being his work.’ His lips formed a weak smile. ‘This must sound so corny.’
‘Not at all,’ I lied, thinking he was in a position of authority over Melissa as her employer, mentor and much-older lover.
‘Wednesday was an emotional night. She wanted to end our relationship, saying she was sick of the secret meetings.’ He sighed and stretched out again. ‘I offered to leave my wife so we could start afresh on the mainland. She said she wanted to leave her husband but couldn’t do it to Alby. Melissa had this fragility about her that made me want to look after her, be with her, protect her. I guess I’ll have to break this to my wife when she returns from visiting her family in Cairns. I’d prefer the school doesn’t learn of the affair though.’
‘Our priority is to find Melissa. What do you know about Franz Josef?’
‘Good bloke. He was one of the first special needs students when the unit was set up almost 20 years ago.’
‘Any propensity to violence?’
‘Not at all. He’s a big softie. Wouldn’t hurt a flea.’
‘How long have you been on the island?’
‘Twenty-seven years.’
‘Have you got all that, Jenny?’ She nodded. I turned back to Dave. ‘You would have worked with Melissa’s husband, Robby Ramu, wouldn’t you?’
‘We were both first-year teachers at the high school. We were good mates . . .’ he paused, ‘. . . in the beginning.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We served on the management committee of an education organisation. He stole funds and was jailed.’
‘How is he still employed by the department?’
‘He’s the head of curriculum and doesn’t handle money. He’s very good at what he does and it’s important to have Islanders in key positions.’
‘Did he plead guilty or was there a trial?’
‘That’s a little technical, but he tried to blame me and other committee members. What’s this got to do with Melissa?’
‘I’m not sure, but we need to know the background of relationships in case this goes further.’
‘I just hope Melissa is found safe.’
‘I noticed you have a nasty scratch there, Dave,’ I said. ‘How did you get it?’
‘Oh, this.’ He pulled on the collar of his shirt, exposing a few inches of his sternum and two parallel scratches about five centimetres long. ‘I was walking along the edge of the dam a couple of days ago. I went off track to look at a bird by the edge of the water and walked into a broken tree branch.’ He smiled. ‘The damn bird flew off.’
‘What time was this?’
‘About 6pm.’ He held his hands up in surrender again. ‘I’m not hiding anything. I passed Joe Robson and two nurses, I think, from the aged-care home. I often pass them there. One of them has really red curly hair, sounds Irish. You can check it out.’
‘I know Joe Robson, Thea, and the red-haired nurse is Niamh,’ said Jenny.
‘Thank you for your time, Dave.’
Jenny stopped at the newsagency to collect yesterday’s papers. ‘The plane won’t make it with today’s papers in this weather so I’ll make do with yesterday’s news. Have a look around. This place has everything you could possibly want to buy.’ She turned to me with a cheeky grin. ‘I challenge you to think of something that is not there. I do this to all the new officers and I’ve never been caught out.’
‘That means the odds of you getting caught out increase.’
‘Whatever. Prepare to concede.’
Jenny collected the papers and said she was heading next door for some battered wings from Triple F and to read the papers. I gave her a terse look.
‘Okay, the grilled wings.’
I wandered around the aisles, initially in awe of the range of products. I could have bought an entire wardrobe of clothes, not to mention simple, functional bras and undies. In fact, I could have bought a wardrobe and every other item of household furniture and kitchen apparel: cutlery, crockery and baking goods. After doubling back and picking out two sarongs, I continued looking. There were photo frames, watches, jewellery (I asked an assistant to open the glass cabinet so I could choose a toe ring, simple silver), baby gear including cots and walkers, stationery, books, shoes, toys, gift wrapping paper, art supplies and even scrapbooking paraphernalia. Not that I had a crafty bone in my body. I was an officer and right now I was looking for evidence. Just when I was thinking there were no cameras, computers, mobile phones or electrical appliances, I found a Retravision section. Bugger. It looked like I would need to concede defeat to Jenny’s challenge. I went to pay for my purchases. Georgia and her blonde daughters were at the opposite checkout. She was wearing a sixties-style dress with retro patterns. She paid for three packets of cigarettes and left without seeing me.
‘I am proud of myself. I only had a coffee,’ said Jenny as we drove off. ‘Oh, ready to concede?’
‘An aqua-jet foot massage machine.’ One of my brothers gave Dad one last Christmas to soothe his arthritic feet.
‘Oh, come on. They’ll order it in.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Right now, I can’t buy everything.’ I gave her a friendly poke in the arm.
Chapter 12
There was no reprieve from the rain and Jenny crawled through the deserted streets at a snail’s pace, her face close to the windscreen. ‘It always rains at Easter and Cyclone Pearl has made things worse,’ she said. ‘Dave’s a nice bloke, isn’t he?’
‘He’s very in control of himself and to my mind he used his position to have an affair with a young, beautiful and fragile woman.’ Jenny turned to me, with a look of surprise. ‘He’s a bit full of himself. And watch the road.’
‘He’s a top bloke who’s done great things for young Islander students. No other white guy has stayed that long working for the good of the community.’
‘He might be a top bloke, but he can also be arrogant. Don’t you think he’s more worried about the school finding out about the affair than about Melissa?’
‘Well, people don’t want affairs to get out.’
‘Of course not.’
I wasn’t a paragon of virtue when it came to married men. When I was 30, I got into a relationship with an older guy, Aaron, 45. He was charming and worldly and I was completely swept off my feet. But he only ever wanted to meet at my flat. I became suspicious because he wouldn’t go out for coffee, dinner or even a walk. He always claimed he was exhausted from work. Instead he’d bring over food and cook for me. Sometimes he’d call at lunch and I’d race home to meet him. I felt alive, daring. But it was during one of these lunchtime trysts that he got a phone call. From his wife. His daughter had broken her arm at school and she needed surgery.
While he slipped his clothes back on, I, naturally, drilled him with questions: Why didn’t you tell me you were married? How could you do this to me? Does your wife know? Do you have other children?
‘Don’t interrogate me,’ he said as he left. ‘Anyway, we’re in the process of separating. We’ll talk later when you’re out of work mode.’
Even though I was pissed off, I didn’t stop him coming over. If anything, the sex became more intense and desperate and I couldn’t break it off. I was working in forensics at the time. It was all death and violence and the affair helped me lose myself and not think about how a young woman could be strangled to death or a child drowned by his father as revenge on his ex-wife during a bitter custody dispute. I wrestled with the guilt of my fling with Aaron until I finally broke it off three months later when he still hadn’t separated.
‘Dave’s very community-minded,’ said Jenny. ‘He co
aches the men’s basketball team and he catches fish and gives them away to old people and single mums who can’t go fishing.’
‘It doesn’t stop him from being up himself,’ I said. For me, men like Dave, Aaron and Mark were all the same. ‘Can you get onto Joe Robson and the two nurses and see if they can back up his story about the scratch?’
‘Sure, but you won’t get anything on Dave,’ she said as she pulled into the station carport.
‘We need to do a thorough search of the dam,’ I said when we got into my office. ‘Is there a map?’
Jenny rushed off without a word and returned with a framed poster-sized satellite photograph of the island. ‘It’s on the wall down my end if you ever need it.’
She pointed out Robby’s house and where we had walked. She tapped the expanse of sapphire-blue dam water. ‘It won’t look like that now. More like a latte.’
‘Shit,’ I said. I did a visual on me standing at the edge of the dam in a raincoat and umbrella, coordinating the search.
‘I haven’t had breakfast. How about I grab us a couple of counter meals from the Railway Hotel? No chips, I know.’
‘As long as it’s not vegan.’
While Jenny got the food, I checked the weather bureau. Cyclone Pearl had crossed an uninhabited part of the west coast of Cape York an hour ago, which meant the winds should ease over the next few hours. I phoned the regional crime coordinator in Cairns again. Tomorrow morning, the police Air Wing would fly up police divers. Next, I phoned the on-call council engineer. He bemoaned the weather and said if ‘bloody Pearl’ hadn’t blown up, he’d be fishing. I explained the need for a search of the dam.
My Island Homicide Page 8