The Secrets that Lie Within (Taylor's Bend, #1)

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘So do I. Bye.’

  Back at the house, Abbie finished making her tea and took the mug into the spare room. She hadn’t been in since her other visitors had left. The sheets and towels were piled on the bed ready to be washed so she took the bundle to the laundry, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell, dumped the lot in the machine and switched it on. It could go out overnight. A wash and a night and day in the fresh air would remove any traces of Aaron. She’d change her own sheets while she was at it.

  By the time the sheets and towels were flapping in the cooling evening breeze and the two beds were made, dusk had fallen. Dinnertime.

  ***

  Abbie went to bed early and fell asleep almost immediately. The possum races woke her briefly but she pulled the covers over her head to drift into sleep again.

  The next time she woke it was sudden and she had no idea why beyond the sense of having heard a shot fired. She sat up abruptly, heart thudding hard in her chest. Had she dreamed the crack of the gun? Was Rita out taking pot shots at trespassers? Not this close to her house in the middle of the night. At … she peered at the clock, blinking to clear her vision … at two thirty-three.

  It had been loud and it had been close, she’d swear to it.

  And then it happened again.

  Chapter 7

  Abbie froze, fingers gripping the doona. Her mind scurried, frantically doing a mental stocktake of the doors and windows. She’d checked them all before bed. All doors locked, all windows closed except the one in her bedroom. Her eyes strained wide, staring at the slightly paler oblong where the curtains were drawn. Should she pull the window down? Could she? The old wood frame always squeaked when she shoved it up. It was only open a crack, enough to let in some air.

  She slid slowly off the bed, leaving the covers in place, and crawled across to the window. Heart thudding, palms wet with cold sweat, she reached up under the curtain and felt for the wooden frame. Cool night air chilled her shaking fingers. The gap was bigger than she thought. She stretched up, groping for the bottom of the frame. Too high. She moved into a crouch and with a sudden, swift push up from the legs, grasped the window with both hands and pulled it down, hard.

  For once it slid into place with a dull but muted thud, subdued by her determined assault. She flicked the old-fashioned metal catch and sagged onto the floor. How loud had that been?

  Footsteps sounded outside, slow, measured pacing on the gravel of the drive. The prowler. Clamping her lips hard together to prevent the whimpers of fear from escaping, Abbie darted for the door. The hallway was the only place in the house where she was out of sight from a window, although with all the curtains and blinds drawn no-one could see in. She kept telling herself that. No-one could see her. No-one could get in, not without her hearing them. They’d have to break a window and if that happened she’d be able to make a run for it through the bush to the road and up to the Bensons. Maybe they would have heard the shots. Maybe Tim would call Rupe.

  She huddled on the floor making herself as small as possible, her breath keeping pace with her racing mind and galloping heart. Maybe she should get dressed in case she had to bolt. But that meant going into her bedroom, groping for clothes, moving, making noise. Gradually the adrenaline subsided and the cold began to seep in. She shivered and hugged her arms around her knees. How long had she been sitting here? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? The linen cupboard was close. She stood up on shaking legs and edged her way along the wall in the dark, feeling for the door handle. There. She had a spare doona, single bed-sized, a leftover from Georgia’s childhood. She wrapped herself in it, and with a spare pillow under her head, lay down on the hall runner waiting for sounds of an intruder, or another shot.

  Silence. Not even the possums broke the stillness …

  Her eyes flicked open. The floor was hard. Her hip was sore.

  Had she slept? How long had she been lying here? Was that a glimmer of daylight coming from the kitchen? Dawn broke over the hills at the back of the house so the kitchen got the first rays of sunlight.

  Abbie sat up, ears straining. Nothing. Gathering the doona around herself, she stood up carefully and edged her way into her bedroom. She must have slept because birds were twittering and a border of dim light crept around the curtains. Five to five by the clock. Snatching up clothes, she scurried to the bathroom and dressed.

  Whoever it was couldn’t still be out there. Could they?

  In the kitchen, she tried the phone in the vain hope it might be working again. It wasn’t. The growing light gave her courage so she filled the kettle and switched it on for tea. While it boiled she went to the living room and peeked through the curtains. The front yard was still in semi-darkness, shadowed by the house, but the sky was brightening rapidly. Any minute now the sun would burst over the hills and chase away the night terrors.

  Nothing stirred. She moved to her bedroom and pulled the curtain aside to peep out. Nothing. Emboldened, she opened the front door a crack. When nothing happened, she unlatched the screen door and stepped onto the verandah, shivering in the early morning chill. Dew lay heavy on the grass and so did something else.

  A dark shape huddled at the foot of the verandah steps. Abbie sucked in a quick gulp of air. It was furry and smallish. Some sort of animal? A cat? Heart thudding, she walked slowly to the top step and stared down at the body. Grey fur. A long tail. A possum, its body oddly flattened in death. A black stain marked the coat.

  The memory of gunshots rang in her head followed by a blast of indignant rage. The bastard had shot one of the racing possums. Who would do such a thing? Why?

  Abbie charged inside for the key to the toolshed. Halfway across to find a shovel for the burial, she slowed. Wasn’t shooting possums illegal? They were native animals and thus protected. She should ring Rupe before she did anything to disturb the crime scene. There could be footprints, and a bullet somewhere. Two shots had been fired last night.

  She backtracked to the house, locked up tight, and took her phone to climb up to the ridge again.

  Rupe listened in silence. When she’d finished he said, ‘Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way. Give me thirty minutes.’

  ‘I’ll go down and open the gate for you.’

  Relief lightened her steps as she went down to the house. It looked so peaceful, idyllic even, in the early morning light. The sun was just breasting the far hills, glinting off the back windows and chasing away the shadows. The wind had died down and the sky was cloudless, giving the promise of a beautiful spring day. A wisp of smoke drifted from Rita’s chimney. Up early as usual, making breakfast on her fuel stove. Had she heard anything?

  Back inside, Abbie took a quick shower and donned clean clothes, having grabbed yesterday’s cast-offs in her predawn haste this morning. Wouldn’t do to greet Rupe unwashed and in dirty underwear. He’d be at the gate soon. When had she called him? She glanced at the bedside clock as she brushed her hair. Cripes. It was only five-thirty. No wonder he hadn’t said much, he was probably half asleep. She’d dragged the poor man out of bed and he hadn’t said a word about it.

  The least she could do was give him breakfast.

  ***

  Rupe stared down at the sad little body. The blood had dried black and wasn’t as large a patch as Abbie had first thought in the shadowy, early light. Far from frightening, it now looked pitiful, the result of a cowardly act.

  He took a couple of photos on his phone, squatted and peered at the bloodstained fur, poking at it with a gloved finger.

  ‘They raced up and down the roof every night,’ Abbie said. Where was the mate? He or she would be in shock, wondering where their partner was, grieving and lonely somewhere.

  ‘Poor little guy. I don’t think he was shot. At least, not killed by a shot.’

  Rupe rose and turned to her, notebook and pen in hand. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  She related the events of the night while he made notes.

  ‘You didn’t see the person? People?’


  ‘No, just heard the footsteps out here on the gravel. One person walking. There could have been two out there, I suppose’

  ‘Not on the verandah? They didn’t try to get into the house? The sheds?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t hear anything. But I haven’t checked the sheds. I didn’t think.’

  He nodded and walked slowly about, studying the ground. ‘It’s impossible to see anything here. Too many footprints and marks from cars. Did you see any lights?’

  ‘No. Are you sure it wasn’t shot?’

  ‘Yes. I think it was more likely hit by a car. It’d be a pretty lucky shot in the dark to hit a live one. He’s brought the body in and left it on the ground. Shot it here when it was already dead. Did you see torchlight?’

  ‘No. Do you think that’s what happened? I suppose it’s possible. I was asleep until the shots woke me, so he could have had a torch and placed the body then fired the gun. What will you do?’

  ‘Not much I can do.’

  ‘Can you have the bullet analysed?’

  He pursed his lips, tapping his pen on the notebook for a moment. Trying not to laugh?

  ‘We’d need a gun to match it with,’ he said eventually. ‘And possums don’t take priority, I’m afraid. It is illegal.’

  ‘Right. So basically you won’t do anything.’

  ‘Abbie, I understand you’re frightened and you’re angry. Maybe you should move into town for a few days, stay at the motel or with someone. The Bensons?’ His tone was one of calm reasonableness, the one he’d employ on difficult troublemakers. People like Rita. Irritating as hell.

  ‘I can’t afford the time away from my work,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And I won’t be chased out of my home. What would they do if I left the place unattended? Torch it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what this is about. Do you?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t. Why do you keep asking me that as if I’ve done something wrong? I haven’t.’

  ‘But your ex-husband did,’ he said.

  That momentarily stunned her. How did he know? Dope! He’s a cop. He probably checked her out ages ago. Knew everything about her from the start. Never said a word.

  He said into the silence, ‘Could there be a connection?’

  ‘How? He’s dead.’

  He stared at her for a long moment then nodded. ‘I’ll get rid of this for you. Can I use the shovel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He headed for the shed.

  ‘Rupe?’

  He turned.

  ‘Had breakfast?’

  ‘No, not even a cup of tea.’ The glimmer of a smile.

  ‘I can do scrambled eggs on toast.’

  ‘Great, thanks. Won’t be long.’ He grinned and continued walking.

  Fifteen minutes later he tapped on the back door.

  ‘Come in, you don’t need to knock,’ she said.

  He pulled open the flyscreen and came into the kitchen. ‘Can I use the bathroom, please?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She dropped toast into the toaster and poured the beaten eggs into the pan. When he returned, she was ready to serve.

  ‘Sit down. Two slices of toast?’ she asked.

  ‘For starters. Your car hasn’t been touched and as far I can tell nothing’s been moved in the sheds.’

  ‘There’s nothing valuable out there apart from my car and that’s not exactly new. Anyway, it was locked.’

  He pulled out a chair and sat at the table where she’d arranged the cutlery, mugs and teapot. Extra toast sat on a plate. She’d scoured the cupboard and fridge for jam, marmalade, honey and vegemite.

  ‘Looks good,’ he said as she placed the eggs on toast in front of him and sat down with her own plate.

  By the way he shovelled in his breakfast, he was famished. Abbie watched, amused as he scraped up the last of the egg and reached for another piece of toast. She refilled his mug with tea.

  ‘Don’t they feed you at home?’

  ‘Food’s not as good as here.’ He spread marmalade on the toast.

  ‘Why did you think this … stuff … has something to do with my ex-husband.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say his name aloud.

  ‘I’m not saying I do. It’s just a possibility.’

  ‘But the trial was over a year ago now and he’s dead. It’s over as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘What about his victims?’

  ‘I know. They’ll never forget and he’s ruined their lives, but I’m a victim too and so is Georgia. Why would anyone think I had anything to do with what he did?’

  ‘Guilt by association, perhaps?’

  ‘But wouldn’t that come out at the time? I mean, I was there at the start of it all but I deliberately didn’t go to the trial because I didn’t want to be seen as supporting him.’

  ‘So you were sure he was guilty.’

  Abbie stared at him, surprised. ‘Of course he was guilty. The evidence was indisputable but someone buggered up something and the chain of evidence was broken and the whole arrest was thrown into question because of the way they did a search. A perfect miscarriage of justice.’

  ‘But what about at the beginning? When he was first under suspicion. What did you think?’

  ‘I had no idea anything was happening until the police arrested him. I was completely floored. I thought it was some horrible mistake. I mean, I knew there was a serial rapist on campus, or at least someone preying on students over a long period of time, but I had no idea it was him. No-one did.’

  ‘How did he manage to get away with it?’

  ‘He was very clever and he was very charming and no-one would ever have suspected he could do such a thing. He was a popular lecturer. At the end he got complacent and thought he was untouchable. He’d never directly tried it on with students before, at least there were never any complaints made against him, though that may not mean anything. The girls who finally accused him were foreign, here on study visas, so they had a fair bit at stake but were brave enough to speak out. Maybe he didn’t want to sneak around in the bushes anymore.’

  ‘Or maybe he wanted to be caught.’

  ‘I doubt it. Quite honestly I don’t care.’ Abbie drank her tea and poured more.

  Rupe chewed on his toast and marmalade.

  ‘I’ll drop in on the neighbours, see if they heard anything last night,’ he said.

  ‘My first thought was Rita with her shotgun—but I was half asleep,’ she added in self-defence when he looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘She wouldn’t shoot a possum.’

  ‘It wasn’t a shotgun.’

  ‘No, like I said I was asleep. I wasn’t sure I’d even heard the first shot or dreamed it, but the second one was real.’ She shuddered. ‘And the footsteps.’

  ‘What time’s your daughter coming?’

  ‘Noon, maybe.’

  ‘Okay, good. Would she stay a few days?’

  ‘I’d like her to but I don’t know … I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Abbie, I’m taking this seriously. More seriously than you, I think. This sort of thing can escalate and we don’t know who we’re dealing with, what their goal is and how far they’ll go.’

  ‘Should I get a gun?’ she asked.

  ‘No, definitely not. You’d end up blowing someone’s head off, or your own by mistake.’ He smiled. ‘A dog would be a good idea though. I’ll ask around and see what I can do.’

  He pushed his chair back and took his dirty plate and mug to the sink.

  ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Abbie. Try not to worry. I’ll let you know if anything turns up. It’s probably the same prowler, not someone targeting you.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure you’ve told me everything?’

  ‘Of course I have. I don’t have a clue what this is about. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll drop in later.’

  She didn’t dare object.

  ***

  Rupe turned right when he left Abbie’s, le
aving the gate open for her daughter. This development was a step up from the previous incidents, which could all be put down to coincidence or have a logical explanation. And it was a step up from the other prowler reports. Someone walking about outside the house in the middle of the night, shooting a possum, albeit already dead, and leaving it virtually on Abbie’s doorstep couldn’t be brushed aside and he wasn’t going to. The Benson’s were probably too far away to have heard the shots but he’d start there anyway, then head down to see Rita. If there was a looney about, she needed to know.

  Tim was walking across the yard followed by a blue heeler when Rupe pulled in. He changed course and waited for Rupe to get out of the cruiser. The dog sat at his feet, eyes alert as he approached.

  ‘Morning, Constable, is this an early morning raid?’ He smiled.

  Rupe glanced at his watch. It was only just after seven. ‘Morning. Tim. Sorry to turn up so early. I’ve just been over at Abbie’s.’

  ‘Really? Anything we should know?’ His eyebrows shot skyward as the smile broadened.

  Rupe shook his head, not rising to the bait. ‘No, she had a prowler last night. Did you hear or see anything odd?’

  ‘A prowler? The prowler? I thought that was …’ The grin disappeared in a flash. ‘Is she all right? Did she see who it was? What sort of sick bastard does that?’

  ‘She was asleep and woke up to gunshots. Two. Did you hear anything?’

  ‘My god. No. What time?’

  ‘She reckons around two-thirty.’

  ‘Sorry. We were both asleep, we’re always too exhausted to wake up for anything much. Not sure we’d hear a gunshot over here. Maybe. Do you know what sort of gun it was?’

  ‘I got the bullet. It was a .22. Probably from an air rifle. Whoever it was left a dead possum near the verandah steps. But it was roadkill first, then shot, I think. Already dead.’

  Tim shook his head. ‘Bloody hell. That’s plain weird. Abbie shouldn’t be there on her own. I’ll get Connie to go over and bring her here. She can stay until you catch the bastard.’

  ‘She won’t go. I already suggested she move into town. She reckons she’s got too much work to do and no-one’s chasing her out of her own home. Her daughter’s arriving today so at least she’ll have someone there with her tonight.’