Dead in the Water

by Tania Chandler

  ‘Right to go?’ Flanagan said to Aidan as she stood. She was a head taller than Brigitte.

  ‘No, I’m not actually rostered on. I’ll stay here,’ Aidan said.

  Relief.

  ‘You go back and do a LEAP report.’

  ‘Boss.’ Flanagan furrowed her lineless brow and walked to the car. She slammed the door too hard and drove off too fast — spraying gravel in the driveway.

  Harry left Brigitte and Aidan standing on the porch. Aidan looked at her, daring her to look away first. She didn’t. She reached up and touched his shoulder. ‘We need to talk.’

  He stepped off the porch, and strode to the shed. He came out with a shovel and started digging a hole a metre or so from the fence-line.

  She had a flash of him in a black trench coat digging a much smaller hole in the backyard at the old house in Clifton Hill, after Kitty had been run over. Only a few hours earlier that night, she’d slept with him for the first time — cheated on Sam, and forgot to lock Kitty in. Aidan was right: Once a — whatever he’d been going to say, always a —

  A few months after Kitty’s demise, around the time of her breakdown, Aidan had bought Zippy for them. Mummy, Mummy, Aidan got us a puppy! Her memory of that time was hazy. The twins were about Ella’s age, and Aidan had been renting the bungalow out the back.

  The first time Brigitte had let Aidan stay the night in the house with her, they’d woken in the morning with Zippy licking Aidan’s toes poking out from under the doona. He’d laughed his silly squeaky laugh, and then sworn as those same toes squished a warm swirl of puppy shit in the hallway when he got up to make coffee.

  ‘Aidan, stop!’ She walked towards him. ‘We need to tell the kids first.’

  He dug wildly, scraped his knuckles on the shovel handle, swore, flicked off blood, and kept digging. There were spider webs in his hair.

  Ella bounded out across the yard, her feet naked. Brigitte started telling her to put on slippers, but stopped herself.

  Aidan leaned the shovel against the fence and crouched to hug Ella. He whispered something in her ear, and Ella’s little back started to rise and fall with sobs. Aidan held her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

  Brigitte’s heart shifted in her chest. She looked at the sky; rain was on the way. In a croaky voice, she said, ‘I’ll go tell the twins.’

  Once Harry had helped Aidan bury Zippy, they went through the funeral formalities swiftly because it was raining. Under black umbrellas — and Ella’s Very Hungry Caterpillar umbrella — they said their goodbyes to Zippy.

  23

  ‘I want Zippy. I want my Zippy back,’ Phoebe howled in her top bunk at bedtime. ‘It’s not fair!’

  Brigitte held her, stroking her silky hair, Phoebe’s face hot and wet against hers. The steel bed frame creaked as Phoebe’s body shook. When she finally went limp, Brigitte could hear the rain thrumming against the window. She tucked the doona around Phoebe. For a moment she was struck, like a slap across the face, by her daughter’s beauty. They never discussed looks or weight, or bought vacuous women’s magazines promoting unrealistic body images — she didn’t want her girls, or boy, to be sucked in by such things. And she never told Phoebe how beautiful she was. She unstuck a clump of hair from Phoebe’s cheek, pushed it off her face, and kissed her lips: something the twins baulked at now when they were awake.

  She climbed down the ladder and sat on Finn’s bottom bunk.

  He asked what had really happened to Zippy.

  ‘I told you. Harry found him near the water. It looked like he was just sleeping peacefully.’

  Disbelief clouded his blue eyes.

  ‘Maybe he had a heart attack, or a disease we didn’t know about.’ She should have said nothing, rather than lie. ‘Whatever it was, it was quick. He didn’t suffer.’ Another lie. She looked at her hands.

  Finn argued that Zippy was healthy, and he’d just had a check-up at the vet.

  ‘Go to sleep now, Finny.’

  ‘It hurts so much.’

  ‘I know.’ She heard Aidan running the shower.

  ‘Aidan’s sad, isn’t he?’ Finn said.

  ‘Shh.’ She clicked off the lamp, put a hand on his hip, and rocked him gently like she had when he was a baby.

  The sounds of the rain and the shower ran together, and the words of the old folk song that Papa used to sing came back to her. It was a White Stripes song now.

  Did you forsake your house and home?

  Did you forsake your baby?

  Did you forsake your husband dear?

  To go with Black Jack Davey?

  To go with Black Jack Davey?

  Aidan was making up a bed on the couch. He wore track pants and a faded Nirvana T-shirt. He’d shaved and his hair was damp. He shook the doona, tucked one side of it into the couch, and smoothed it over.

  ‘Do you think the same person did it?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Murdered Zippy and Maree Carver.’

  ‘It’s not called “murder” when an animal’s unlawfully killed.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘I don’t care what you call it. And why can’t you ever just answer my questions?’

  He shot her a glance: black ice.

  ‘It wasn’t random, was it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They targeted us?’

  ‘Think you’ve read one too many crime books.’

  Ouch.

  Ella wandered out rubbing her eyes, saying she couldn’t sleep. She looked at Aidan. ‘Why are you sleeping on the couch, Daddy?’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable in the big bed.’

  ‘You fighting?’

  ‘Mummy’s fighting with herself.’

  Ella giggled. ‘You’re silly, Daddy.’

  Brigitte agreed and shooed her back to bed. When she was sure Ella was out of earshot, she put her hands on her hips and said: ‘It was a waste of police resources.’

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Spying on me.’ She felt the blood rising up her neck.

  ‘Didn’t have to.’ He pulled a Batman pillowcase onto a spare pillow. ‘Your phone rang me from your pocket. Or bag.’ He plumped up the pillow. ‘Doubt you had any pockets on at the time.’

  Oh God. What would he have heard?

  He folded the doona down and sat on the couch, pillow on his lap. ‘I’m really tired now so …’

  She wanted more of a response from him, a screaming match, anything. ‘You lied to me.’ She snatched the pillow from his hands.

  He smirked and shook his head, so fucking self-righteous.

  ‘Oh, that’s right. You call it withholding information.’

  ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Maree Carver was murdered on the island?’

  ‘What difference does the location make?’

  None. But that wasn’t the point.

  ‘Or that her throat was slashed?’

  ‘I tried to tell you, but you were … busy.’

  She hugged the pillow to her chest. He stretched out and pulled the doona over his long legs.

  She threw the pillow at him and walked away. At the doorway, she stopped and turned back. ‘Nothing happened, Aidan.’

  He looked up as he put the pillow under his head, faked a condescending one-sided smile, and said, ‘Is that the same information you withheld from Sam?’

  The silence was broken by her mobile ringing in her pocket.

  ‘Better get that,’ he said. She caught the tremor in his voice: his bluster was all bluff.

  They locked eyes. She let it ring out, calmly, but her pulse was rocketing.

  He looked away first. ‘Can you switch off the light, please?’ He turned his back.

  She wanted to crawl in behind him, mo
uld her body to his, warm her cold feet on his legs, feel the bumps of his bony spine against her face, inhale the smell of his clean skin, the vanilla-bean soap, and the citrus cologne that lingered even after a shower. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. And that she was sad, and scared. She flicked off the light.

  In the bedroom, she listened to her phone message. Matt: Just calling to see how you are. All apologies for Sunday night. Call if you want to — She deleted it before she heard the end of his message. You have no new voice messages.

  Her heart was still racing, no way she could sleep. She sat on the bed and checked her email, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn. Nothing of interest. She keyed a Google search: Meaning of The Postman Always Rings Twice. It was either literally a reference to postal customs or an old dirty joke. Or something about retribution and not getting away with murder twice.

  In shallow sleep — without her dog, without her grandfather, without her husband — she drowned again and again.

  24

  When Brigitte emerged from the bedroom, Aidan was at the breakfast bar, spreading toast with butter and vegemite.

  She rubbed her puffy eyes, and glowered at his back as he put the Vegemite in the fridge. It goes in the cupboard. Then she was torn by an urge to rush over and hug him. She poured a mug of coffee.

  ‘Can you organise to have somebody install a new security door today?’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Not get the old one fixed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because of what happened to Zippy?’

  ‘If we’re getting it done, might as well get a proper security screen. Ray recommended a bloke. Also knows about standalone home-security systems. Ask for a quote while he’s here. I’ll get his card for you before I go.’ He bit into his toast, chewed and swallowed.

  ‘I’m supposed to go to work.’

  ‘Do it from home.’

  She glanced at The Gippsland Leader on the breakfast bar. Maree Carver was still the lead story, above a piece about the ferry fees, a Metron Homes ad, and a buy-one-get-one-free McDonald’s coupon.

  She could call in sick — it wouldn’t be a lie, because she did feel sick. ‘You think it was meant to be me, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  He looked at her for the first time that morning.

  ‘I was supposed to be at the dinner that night.’

  ‘Now you’re being hysterical.’

  ‘And she was wearing a coat the same as mine.’

  ‘Millions of people have that kind of coat.’ His face softened, and she thought he was going to hug her. ‘Just being careful, OK?’

  She should tell him about Matt’s book.

  He took his breakfast and the paper to the table.

  ‘Papa’s funeral tomorrow,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  She kept talking, mindlessly, not sure why. ‘And Ryan and Joan are coming for Easter.’

  He wasn’t listening. His mobile rang, and he took the call out on the porch.

  She chewed her bottom lip, fiddled with her dressing-gown tie.

  He came back in and grabbed his jacket to go.

  ‘Don’t forget the card,’ she said.

  He rushed to the bedroom and returned, rummaging through his gym bag. He found the business card in the front pocket, slapped it on the breakfast bar, and threw the bag into the bedroom on his way out.

  She frowned at his unfinished toast on the table.

  He came back a minute later. ‘They haven’t taken our bin!’

  She blinked a couple of times, unsure of how he was hoping she’d respond.

  ‘Can you give the council a ring about it today?’

  ‘Sure.’ She nodded, and off he went again.

  The guy from EG Home Security told her they were busy; it could take at least a month to get an EG qualified technician to the island. When she told him she worked for Gip TV and was Detective Senior Sergeant Serra’s wife, he checked again and there’d just been a cancellation, so he’d have somebody out there today.

  She went into the bedroom to return the business card to Aidan’s bag. In the front pocket, her fingers found something cold, metallic. A gold lighter engraved with the letter ‘C’. Her reflection was distorted on the shiny surface. She sat on the bed and ran her thumb over the ‘C’, her nail catching in the groove. She flicked the lighter on and off a few times. Don’t jump to conclusions, Brigitte. He could have picked it up anywhere. Colin, Connor, Carl?

  Pete from EG Home Security turned up at the front door an hour or so later, complaining about the long drive and his bad back. He asked if Brigitte had a dog. She looked at her hands and shook her head.

  ‘Got bit on the leg last week at a job.’ He rolled up a trouser leg and showed her his stitches. He smelled of cigarettes.

  He left his shoes on the mat, and she led him through to the back of the house, where he whipped out a tape and measured the dimensions of the doorway. ‘It’s gunna be tight.’ He blew air towards the ceiling, as if it was all too hard. ‘A bee’s dick either side, I reckon. Think I’ll need a cuppa before I get started.’

  Brigitte flicked on the kettle. Her phone rang. Pete smirked at the ringtone. She recognised the number and rejected the call. Black Jack Davey.

  She excused herself when she’d made tea, and went to work on a voice-over script in the sunroom-come-study. Hard to concentrate with Zippy, and Colin, Connor, Carl, on her mind.

  Around lunchtime, her phone buzzed with a Facebook friend request from M.E. Elery. She wondered what the E stood for. But only for a second before clicking ‘Delete Request’. They weren’t going to be ‘friends’ on Facebook or anywhere else.

  Another buzz. @MEElery was now following her on Twitter.

  Brigitte went to see how Pete was getting on with the screen door. ‘How’s your cuppa?’

  ‘Bit dry, thanks, love. I’d kill for another.’

  Bad choice of words, Pete. ‘Any chance you could get started on the home-security system as well today?’ she said.

  ‘Want a quote for hubby first?’

  Seriously? She clasped her hands behind her back. ‘No. Just do it.’

  ‘Smart move.’ Pete nodded. ‘Lotta people having intruder-detector systems installed after the murder.’ He looked around the room with a finger on his chin. ‘Makes sense with a young family, no dog, and …’

  She narrowed her eyes and he stopped talking — for a few seconds.

  By late afternoon, Pete had installed a ‘virtually-impenetrable-by-intruders’ security door with a triple lock, along with an intrusion-alarm system.

  Finn came into the kitchen to sulk, because he wanted to play Xbox but, as usual, Phoebe had gotten her way and was watching TV with Ella. ‘Cop car hanging round school today,’ he said.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Brigitte nodded and made him a hot chocolate, and tea for herself. ‘Aidan’s just being careful.’ Shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Through the window, she saw Aidan’s car pull into the driveway. He got out and strode back to the bin. Shit, she’d forgotten to ring the council. He lifted the lid and inspected the rubbish, closed the lid, and marched towards the house.

  She banged her cup down on the breakfast bar. ‘The alarm’s going to think he’s an intruder and go off when he comes in!’ She rushed to the back door. Pete had said something about having to trip the system for it to go off. She didn’t know what ‘trip the system’ meant — she’d been trying to work and hadn’t really listened while he was explaining. She poised an index finger above the keypad, but couldn’t remember the steps to disarm it. ‘The code, Finn, I wrote it on their business card.’ Even though Pete had told her not to write it down. ‘Have a look in the top drawer!’

  He looked while she pressed some buttons.

  ‘Fo
und it!’ He skidded across the room. ‘Let me try.’ He pressed more buttons.

  They stared as Aidan walked into the kitchen and admired the security door. It must have been the correct code: the alarm didn’t go off.

  ‘Bin’s still there,’ he said.

  ‘They said they’d come back sometime during the week. I’ll call them again tomorrow.’

  He looked at her, the slight curl of his lip called her a liar without words. She felt her cheeks colour. He mumbled something under his breath and headed to the shower.

  25

  She dreamed of an angelfish in a plastic bag half-full of water. There was a hole in the bag and the water was leaking. You need to get another bag, or it’ll suffocate. Won’t make it home, said the man at the pet shop. She didn’t believe him. She plugged her finger over the hole and ran out the door, and onto the first jetty. It was longer than she remembered. And slippery. She fell. Somebody screamed. A siren howled. Louder. Louder.

  As she opened her eyes, a dark shadow flashed by. The siren sound wasn’t a dream. Nor was the screaming — it was Ella standing in the bedroom doorway again, with her hands over her ears, Purple Monkey sprawled at odd angles by her feet.

  Oh my God, the alarm, somebody’s broken into the house. Brigitte threw back the doona and sprung out of bed. She grabbed her phone from the bedside table, and shoved it into her pyjamas pocket as she scooped up Ella. The twins ran past her door.

  ‘It won’t stop!’ Finn screamed in the kitchen, stabbing at buttons on the alarm keypad.

  Where the fuck was Aidan?

  They converged in the backyard, where the noise was slightly less deafening. The house lights in the street came on one by one like telephone calls on an old-fashioned switchboard.

  ‘Can I go look round the house?’ Finn said.

  ‘No!’

  ‘The police’ll come in a minute,’ Phoebe said, her teeth chattering.

  No, they wouldn’t — they’d have to make an out-of-hours request for the ferry to bring them across, or call out the Water Police. That would take forever. Brigitte looked around the yard. ‘Where on earth is Aid?’

  Harry strode towards them in his dressing gown and brown slippers, worry on his face. She couldn’t hear her phone ringing but felt it vibrating in her pocket. She stuck a finger in her left ear, trying to hear.