by Anna Willett
She seemed to be waiting for a response. “Yes. Okay.” Judith managed a weak smile, it pulled on her grazed cheek making her wince.
“I’ll give you a couple of paracetamol, they’ll help with the aches and pains. In the meantime, sit tight and I’ll pop my head in and let you know if I hear anything.”
Judith swallowed a string of protest that threatened to burst from her. Alienating Susan, a young nurse trying to be kind, wouldn’t help the situation. At least she had a little more information. Harper was doing well. Not much, but it would keep her going until she got through the morning.
An hour and a half later, her already raw throat felt as if she’d swallowed a ball of wire. She’d answered questions and recounted the events of the last two days at least twice. Two police detectives, one in his fifties with a shaved head and bushy eyebrows, the other younger and blonde, conducted the interview at her bedside. Of the two, the younger man, Detective Branstrum did most of the talking.
“You say you left your sister with one of the men who later turned out to be Martin Crowell.” His eyes, pale blue and deeply set, drifted from Judith to his note book. “What happened then?” His voice was calm, almost gentle.
Judith frowned. Even the slightest movement pulled at every cut and scrape on her face. “You already asked me that.” She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The room smelled of Betadine and cleaning chemicals. The odour reminded her of sickness. “Why do you want to hear the same things over and over again?” Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. They wanted to check her story. If she was lying, her answers might change. “I’m telling you the truth.” She clasped her hand to her throat as if she could ease the words out. “Martin and Archie Crowell terrorised us. Martin killed my sister and Archie told me he murdered my mother.” Her voice broke and tears ran down her cheeks. “I can’t keep doing this.”
Branstrum stepped forward and grabbed a box of tissues off the bedside locker. “I’m sorry, Ms Birdsworth,” he said holding out the box. “I’m not trying to upset you.”
“I don’t want a fucking tissue,” Judith rasped and then snatched the box. She pulled out a handful of tissues and swiped at her eyes. “I want to see Harper. I want to know where my…” She sucked in a breath to steady her voice. “I want to know where my sister is. Is she here?”
Rather than being offended by her outburst, Branstrum’s tight expression softened. He slipped his notebook in the back pocket of his pants. “The search party set out at first light. As soon as they find her, I’ll let you know.”
Find her. That meant Milly had been out in the forest all night. Judith shuddered. Suddenly the room, small and clinical, lit by milky morning light, seemed surreal. She felt as though the whole scene were a mirage and any minute she’d open her eyes and be back in the forest running for her life.
She tried to focus on Branstrum. His mouth moved, but the words were a jumble. “What?”
Branstrum looked at his partner. It was a quick movement, but something in the look unsettled her. She had the feeling he was getting ready to deliver bad news. Can it get any worse? After what she’d seen and done, she decided not to ponder that question.
“Archie Crowell was transported to Royal Perth Hospital last night. He’s undergoing neurosurgery. I don’t know his condition, but I can tell you he was briefly conscious when I spoke to him in the early hours.”
Judith shook her head. “Did you see that old man?” She searched for his name, “William. Did you see what that animal did to him? To Harper?” She looked from Branstrum to his partner. Their faces were unreadable. “I don’t care what happens to Archie. Why would I?”
“I understand,” Branstrum’s voice remained calm, solemn. “When I spoke to him, he claimed to have no memory of what took place on the trails in and around the Leeuwin Naturaliste National Park. In fact,” he went on, “he claims to have no memory of ever being in your mother’s house or conspiring with his brother to harm you.” He shrugged. “If he survives the surgery and he’s ever fit to stand trial, apart from some physical evidence on the knife…” His pale blue eyes regarded her intently. “Our case against him will come down to your testimony. Yours and Ms Sydney’s.”
Judith let the detective’s words sink in. Archie might never have to pay for what he’d done. That was the bottom line. “What are you telling me? That he might get away with it?” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice.
“What I’m trying to tell you, Ms Birdsworth is that we need to build a rock-solid case against him and that means you can’t talk to Ms Sydney until we’ve taken her statement.”
“But I have to…”
He held up his hand to silence her. “And, since she’s still recovering from surgery, I won’t press her for a statement until later this afternoon.”
Judith opened her mouth to object, but he continued speaking. “I can, however, let you see her with an officer present. I’ll have a constable here within the hour.” He turned to his partner.
“I’ll get someone sent over.” It was the first time the other man spoke. Judith tried to recall his name. Morris or Norris, she couldn’t quite remember. He gave her a nod and left the room.
The door closed behind the older detective with a squeak of rubber on linoleum. For a moment there was silence save the babble of voices from the corridor. Branstrum’s gaze remained fixed on the window where olive green curtains framed the morning sky. Judith wondered if the “million miles” stare was another police tactic – say nothing and wait for the guilty party to fill the silence. Another thought quickly followed, I am guilty. I wanted to get Milly out there and scare the truth out of her. Now three people are dead.
She looked up surprised to see the detective’s pale eyes trained on her. Her face burned hot with shame. Judith dropped her eyes and regarded her shredded finger nails. He can see the guilt written all over my face. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind filled with images of her sister falling. The sound of Milly’s head hitting the ground reverberated in her ears making her jerk back against the pillows.
“Are you alright?” Branstrum’s voice seemed calm. His next words stunned her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Her mouth dropped open. She could hear her own heart beating with unnerving clarity. Did he read my face? How can he know what I feel? She had the urge to drop her gaze again but resisted it. Everything she’d told him was true. She’d left nothing out, even the part about planning to scare her sister. Yet pinned under his unwavering eyes, she felt like a criminal.
“You feel guilty.”
Judith let out a sharp breath and gripped the sheet with her battered hands. “I set all this in motion. I opened the door to those two … maniacs. My sister’s dead. How should I feel?”
His brow wrinkled and the stony eyes softened. “I’ve been doing this a long time. Maybe too long.” He shrugged, it was a tired movement. “Archie Crowell is a killer. Not a murderer or a lunatic, but a killer. Based on experience, I know the difference between murders and killers. Archie is the latter. He takes lives not for vengeance or gain but because it’s his nature to kill.” He returned his gaze to the window. “I met someone like him years ago when I was just starting out in this job. I questioned him about an assault in custody. He’d been in prison for years by then, convicted of a string of murders. Quite infamous.” Branstrum let out a long breath. “A serial killer. We don’t have many of those in Western Australia. Not that we’ve caught anyway. Archie reminded me of him.” His voice changed, became more conversational. “It wasn’t anything he said or did, just an absence of humanity.” He hesitated as if trying to find the right words. Judith felt a cold finger creep up her spine. “It’s like being close to a deep quarry filled with black water. When you lean in, all you feel is … desolation.” He turned back to Judith. “You’re not responsible for the death of your sister or William Walterson. The idiotic plan you had to scare your sister didn’t kill her. Archie Crowell an
d his brother did that without any help from you. Remember that.” He waggled his finger at her in a comical way, but there was no humour in his voice.
Judith nodded, not sure what to say. Branstrum looked at his watch. “What the hell’s keeping Norris?” He was all business again.
As if waiting for his cue, Norris elbowed the door open. “The locals are sending a constable over. She’ll be here in ten.” The chipper voice didn’t quite match the shaved head. Judith fleetingly wondered if the older detective kept his head shaved to shift the attention off his voice.
“Nice one.” Branstrum nodded to his partner. To Judith he said, “When you see Ms Sydney, don’t discuss anything that happened out there.” He raised his blonde eyebrows. “Clear?”
“Clear,” Judith echoed.
* * *
A small window at the far end of Harper’s room shed a pool of weak light which didn’t quite reach the bed. The space felt crowded even though the only occupants apart from Harper, were Judith and a female uniformed officer. Constable Tarrant as she’d introduced herself, took up a position in front of the window. In doing so, she blocked much of the natural light.
Dressed in a set of washed out blue scrubs provided by Susan, Judith approached the bed. Harper’s small body looked shrunken under the covers. As if the ordeal of the last few days had used her up. Her right arm encased in a thick layer of brown and white bandages, lay along her body.
Harper’s eyes flicked open. There was panic and pain in the expression that crossed her face. It reminded Judith of a rescue dog she’d seen on TV. She remembered thinking the animal looked haunted, as if expecting a blow with each sound.
“It’s me, sweetheart.” She tried to keep her voice even.
Harper didn’t respond. Her gaze drifted through Judith as if seeing something distant and unrecognisable. Judith moved closer, positioning herself near Harper’s head. “It’s Judith,” she tried again.
The nurse warned her that Harper had been given pain medication and might be unresponsive, but nothing had prepared Judith for the dull look in her partner’s eyes. Judith pressed her hand to the side of Harper’s face. Her skin felt warm and smooth. She blinked and her expression changed. It was as if the touch had brought her to the surface of whatever misty land she’d been inhabiting. Her eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled.
“Jude?” Her uninjured hand gripped Judith’s shoulder. “They told me you were alive, but …” Her words faltered as if she were having difficulty drawing breath. “I didn’t know if I’d only dreamt it.”
Judith chuckled, “You know me, I keep on keeping on.” She brushed a strand of golden hair away from Harper’s face. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s all over now and we’re together.”
The corners of Harper’s mouth turned up in the beginnings of a smile. For a second, Judith saw the light behind her girlfriend’s eyes turn back on. Then a shadow crossed her pale face. “Milly?”
Judith felt the now familiar ache of loss. She tried to put her thoughts into words that would explain what happened. In the end, she settled for a shake of her head.
Harper let out a trembling breath and closed her eyes. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks running over Judith’s hand like warm ribbons. She felt Harper’s hand squeeze her shoulder. There would be time for explanations later. We got through two days in hell, Judith reminded herself. We can get through this.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Harper tapped a finger to her lips and watched Judith’s white BMW Sport drive away. The car negotiated its way around the curving private road and disappeared from view. The winery near Margaret River reminded her of an English castle. With rolling lawns, rows of perfectly-trained rose bushes alive with spring and elegant clusters of vines, the winery seemed other-worldly in its perfection and tranquillity. Despite the serene setting, she felt a quiver of dread. A now familiar feeling.
In the four months since her ordeal in the National Park, Harper found herself struggling with bouts of anxiety. Most common when alone, the attacks would rise up and smother her with terror and helplessness. The episodes, that’s what her psychologist called them, began shortly after she was released from the hospital. Harper remembered the first time the terror hit.
Judith had rented a cabin along the beach in Yallingup so that Harper would have somewhere to recuperate for a few days before they drove back to Perth. Less than a week after their encounter with the Crowell brothers, late autumn marched towards winter. The outlook turned from cloudy to bleak.
* * *
Harper, wrapped in a red checked blanket, sat on the cabin’s back deck overlooking an endless stretch of white sandy beach.
“How’s the arm?” Judith set down a mug of tea on the small wooden side table. The graze on her cheek had formed into a large brown scab. A network of bruises ringed her neck like angry blue fingers.
“Thanks.” Harper nodded at the cup. She didn’t remember asking for it, but that’s not to say she hadn’t. The pain medication they’d given her at the hospital kept her feeling off balance and dreamy. “It’s aching a bit, not too bad.”
She reached for the cup with her left hand and winced. Three broken ribs and a punctured lung had a far more debilitating effect than her broken arm. Every movement brought a shaft of pain. Even motionless and on pain relief, it felt as if a thick rubber band had been wrapped around her chest, squeezing her lungs.
Judith remained standing, one elbow on the railing that encircled the deck. She regarded Harper. In the soft afternoon light, she looked relaxed. The lines of worry that criss-crossed the corners of her eyes smoothed away. “Even after everything that’s happened. I still feel drawn to this place …” She seemed to want to say more but let her words trail off and turned towards the ocean.
“I know what you mean.” Judith looked over her shoulder. The sea breeze ruffled her bouncy brown hair, plastering it around her cheeks.
She smiled. It was a moment Harper hoped she’d remember for ever. The two of them, battered and bruised but slowly coming back to life.
“How about fish and chips?” Judith chuckled. “I’m starving and you need the stodge.”
Five minutes later, Judith, bundled up in a puffy grey jacket, remerged on the deck. “I’m going to walk to the chip shop. I won’t be long.”
“Okay.” The rush of the surf was almost hypnotic. Harper felt sleepy but didn’t have the energy to move.
“Will you be alright out here until I get back?” Harper could tell Judith was making an effort to keep her tone light, but an edge of worry had still crept in.
“Right as rain,” Harper smiled up at her. “If anyone asks how you hurt your face, tell them you fell off an elephant in Thailand.”
Judith’s face relaxed. “That’s a very plausible story. Thanks for that.” She bent forward and kissed Harper on the lips. She smelled of lemon scented shampoo. “Do you want chocolate or an ice-cream?”
Harper shook her head. “I’ve got everything I need.”
“Okay. Be back in twenty.”
The front door had thudded closed. Harper picked up the mug of tea and took a sip. The hot liquid warmed her throat and a cloud of steam wafted over her chilled face. The breeze blew in off the ocean with a frigid blast, flapping the folds of the blanket against her neck. Although the thought of moving seemed like a gargantuan effort, she decided it might be time to go inside.
Harper returned the mug to the table and rose gingerly to her feet. The wind had picked up, whipping her hair around and flapping the blanket. She took a last look at the beach and froze. A figure walked the shore line a hundred metres or so in the distance. She felt a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Even though the shape was far away, she could tell it was a man. Was he there all along? Her mind snapped out of the dreamy haze. Maybe he was watching and saw Judith leave. A set of steep wooden stairs led from the deck down to the sand. Harper bit her lip, there was nothing to stop him walking right up to the cabin. Why
did we rent a place so exposed?
She snapped her head around searching for people on the sand. Apart from the rush of the surf and the occasional cry of gulls, the beach looked deserted. No, she corrected herself. He’s here. All sorts of possibilities flooded her imagination. Her vison grew narrow. The approaching figure filled her view.
Harper spun around twisting her battered torso. Battling the pain that sliced across her ribs, she bolted for the sliding door. Once inside, she slammed it closed with enough force to rattle the thickened glass. Clicking the small latch, she cursed under her breath. This place is no safer than hiding in the grass trees in the National Park. The thought brought back horrific images of Archie plunging the knife into William’s neck. Harper moaned and headed for the bathroom.
Each step sent rivulets of fire up her body and through her arm. Her feet, clad only in fluffy socks, slipped and slid as she tried to find purchase on the highly polished timber floor. She rounded the corner leading to the hallway and her right foot slid back and out from under her. Her knee hit the floor and her injured arm, encased in layers of bandages and a sling, collided with the wall.
For a few seconds, the world turned white. Harper’s teeth clamped together and her head strained backwards as if pulling away from the agony that threatened to swallow her entire being. She clamped her left hand around her injured arm and rocked back and forth.
“Oh God. Oh God.” The words came out around rapid-fire breathing.
In spite of the pain, her mind could only focus on escape. From what, she wasn’t quite sure. The one thing that seemed certain, she was in danger. The man on the beach, he looked like Archie. At least from a distance. But in that moment, it didn’t matter who he was. He was there and she was alone.
“No. No. No.” Harper clambered to her feet. Run or hide? Run or hide?
* * *
When Judith returned fifteen minutes later, she found Harper in the shower stall sobbing.
Since then, the anxiety attacks had become a new and debilitating aspect of her life. It was only Judith’s endless patience and encouragement that stopped Harper losing her mind and becoming a shut-in.