by Joanna Baker
I wanted to call out to her. Tara. Tell me. Tell me what you know.
I looked around the cosy room. This was just a normal family. Everything I wanted to know was hidden. Like at the barbecue. I thought of the amber jewel there, flashing into the blue shadows. I had been an outsider in that scene at the barbecue. Everyone there knew more about this thing than I did. Someone knew the whole truth. I needed a flash of inspiration, a blinding light that would let me see into Tara’s mind, into her heart. Or into someone else’s. Into the heart of a murderer.
But nothing like that happened. Tara didn’t even look at me. I sat there for an hour and then I left.
***
Outside Tara’s gate, I stopped half-paralysed with shame. I had not been wanted. I couldn’t even remember why I’d gone there in the first place. Tara wasn’t in any danger in her own lounge room. What Wando had meant me to do was to stay near her when she went out.
That was it. I’d been hoping to get Tara on her own and tell her not to go anywhere without me. But I couldn’t very well have shouted that across the room over the sound of violins and cow bells. I was still determined to look after her. Now I was going to have to go back in the morning, hang around in her street, watch for her heading out, and then join her. The Rolands were probably already saying I was a funny boy. When I started lurking about near the house, people would start nudging each other behind my back, saying I was weird. It wasn’t a nice feeling. When I planned the visit, I was worried about turning into my mother. Instead I was turning into Chess.
I stopped at a little playground, and went over to the middle of the pine-bark area. Here there was a spinning thing, a green ball with seats inside, shaped like a pumpkin.
I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want my parents to know anything about what had happened. I couldn’t bear them to see how stupid and undesirable I was, and I felt as if this was printed all over me. They would feel sorry for me. The thought made me cringe and moan and bang my forehead on the green pumpkin. But that really hurt. So I sat down on a slide swing to brood.
I had a good view over the town and the country beyond. Tonight it was just as it had always been — hills, black and smooth, under a blue-black sky; houses half-hidden by leaves; pale lights and deep yellow ones; one lit-up Santa in the chemist’s window. There were strange distant sounds and over everything lots of cool night air, empty and dark. But tonight the scene didn’t have any mystery or beauty for me. Instead, everything seemed a bit threatening. The hills crouched low and menacing, and the houses huddled beneath the trees. It was the same kind of evening as the one that inspired me to action on the night of the Rolands’ fire. There was even a cloud drifting around the moon. I tried to get that feeling back, the desire to charge forward like a hero. Instead, what crept in was fear. The feeling that this whole thing was about to blow up in my face and there was nothing I could do about it.
***
There were people in the kitchen with Mum and Dad, which was a relief. I called out something meaningless and managed to get to the bedroom without seeing anyone.
I threw myself on the bed. Thoughts whirled out of control. I couldn’t stop reliving the visit to Tara’s house — the Rolands’ stiff faces telling me without words that I was strange and inferior. Tara, refusing to even look at me. And before that, I’d had that terrible, ugly fight with Chess. That had never happened before. It occurred to me that this was a milestone for me. Something I would always remember. One of the worst nights of my life.
And then I realised we were all having worst moments. Wando, drunk and staggering at the town picnic, screaming into shadows, dribbling and spitting. And Tara, who had gone beyond blankness and wariness, into pale frozen horror. And Chess, who claimed to have completely solved the puzzle of the murderer, but instead of charging around in triumph, had been upset about a few scratches on her old boots. And she was deeply, bitterly angry with me.
Chess said I shouldn’t worry about all this. She said I should concentrate on the things I heard and saw and forget about people’s feelings. But how could you?
I tried. I punched my pillows and lay back on them. I crossed my arms over my chest. I frowned at the ceiling. My thoughts jumped to that afternoon, out on the road. It was here Chess seemed to have decided her investigation was finished. She’d found a clue. The last one. I tried to go over what had happened. At the time I hadn’t concentrated well. Again I’d been caught up in the sadness of the place, the faded plastic flowers, the shock of seeing Jeanette’s name engraved on a stone.
Sounds and sights. Proper evidence. I could remember the car all right, the first car, as it went past and I pressed into the bank. I’d been amazed how much noise and wind a car made close up, even when it wasn’t going fast. Jeanette would’ve heard this too, if she’d been a few metres to the right. Instead she’d been hit and hopefully hadn’t felt or heard anything.
I had seen the driver’s face. That hadn’t been difficult.
The other part I could remember was when I was on the other side of the road, in the bushes, with Chess up on the high bank. This time the driver was Andrew. I’d seen him too. Andrew’s face. Another roaring car. I had yelled ‘No, no!’ If she hadn’t heard me Chess might have come down. It could have happened so easily. At this point in my tired state I couldn’t stop my mind going on, imagining it happening. Over and over. Chess coming down the bank, sliding, being hit, rolling along the road. Or I might have tried to save her, leaped across, thrown her clear, taken the blow myself …
I rolled over. Punched the pillows again. Sucked in air. Hissed it out. It was useless. Thinking wasn’t helping. I tried to stop. I couldn’t. I rolled over again.
It went on like this for much of the night. I might have slept a bit. I know I looked at the red numbers of the clock at least once every hour.
With the first light of morning, I drifted into a half-sleep, aware that it was daylight, scraping a dry tongue around my mouth, thrashing, tangling the sheets.
My final moments in bed were very confused. I thought I was awake and it’s only now, looking back, that I can see everything had the crazy jumble of dreams.
I was running along a road and the whole place was on fire. Then I was in the fire at the Rolands’ café. The smoke was back — that old smell that had taken days to leave me. Muggins the postman was there too, close behind me. We were standing up.
But we were also on the hill behind Chess’s place. There was a figure near the cliff, back to us, staring at the sunset. The colours were in reverse. The view was black and the figure was golden orange, lit up by the fire.
I couldn’t move. I tried to call out, but my lungs were full of fumes and my throat had burnt right away and all I could do was pant soundlessly.
The figure started to turn. Excitement flooded through me. At last I would know who it was. The golden light from its back began to fade. In my ear Muggins whispered, ‘Now I see.’
But the figure had soaked up the blackness of the sky behind it. It had no face at all.
***
I leapt from the bed, kicking free of the sheet, knocking the pillows to the floor. My anxiety, my humiliation, my frustration and anger had suddenly focused into action.
Chess had been right. There had been something there, right in front of me the whole time. The dream had reminded me. I hadn’t seen the face of a murderer. But I had smelt him.
Chapter 25
I had to take my old mountain bike and it rode like a tank. It was over four kilometres to Wilsons’ place and I rode flat out the whole way, pushing at the pedals, hauling on the steering. At the gate I threw the bike aside and ran. There was no one around. The blue shed was padlocked and the only sound was my own roaring breath. My legs felt like rubber. It didn’t matter. Even the heeler nipping at my ankles failed to bother me. I might have kicked it. I hardly noticed. I couldn’t have slowed down if I’d wanted to.
They were all in the kitchen at the back of the house, Annie, Don, Craig and Andrew.
I burst in without knocking. Andrew was on the far side of the tiny room, frying something on the stove.
They were so surprised to see me they all just sat there and let me speak.
‘It was you! You’re Perry!’ I gasped.
Annie was the first to gather herself, but all she said was, ‘Matt?’
‘It was the jumper,’ I said to Andrew. ‘That night in your car. I smelled it then, and I felt how soft it was. I thought it was a rug. It was full of smoke. You thought the smell had gone. Or you forgot to wash it. I didn’t realise at first but I remember now and I know that smell. You knew there was money in that café and you organised the fire. Craig was with you but you’re the one who went back in for the boxes of foil. You’re Perry.’
‘You’re gonna go, Tingle.’ Craig had pushed himself to his feet.
‘Don’t worry about it, Craig,’ said Andrew quietly. He turned off the stove and moved towards the table.
I wasn’t listening to either of them. I ranted on. ‘You organised the fire at Rolands’ café. Craig lit it but you organised it.’
‘You say one word to the cops and you’ll go!’ Craig stood up.
Andrew put a hand out towards him. ‘It won’t matter,’ he said. ‘He can say anything he likes.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I’m hardly going to be charged because of a smell in my cashmere jumper.’
His tone fed my rage. ‘You got all that money! I know it was you! You dragged me out!’
‘You mean I saved your life?’
Craig made a squeaky excited laugh.
‘Take him out please, Don,’ said Andrew. He had a lot of power over these people. Don took Craig by the arm and Craig went with him.
But I wasn’t afraid of Andrew. ‘Wando says you’re evil. Nice clothes, nice hair, but he knows about you. He was yelling at you at the picnic. I reckon you did the other fires too. The fire at Rolands’ garage eight years ago. Did they have money in there that time? Did you go back in and get it? I reckon you got Craig to light that one too. Maybe you got him to light all the fires out this way — as a decoy.’
‘I had nothing to do with those fires eight years ago.’
‘That’s what you say. But somebody saw you, didn’t they? Jeanette Carmody. She was out there a lot, sketching things. Sketching sheds. She saw something at the blue shed, or she saw you running out of the Rolands’ garage. She went around saying she knew things and wearing that stupid necklace. I reckon she told Debbie what she knew and Debbie told you Jeanette was talking. And then Jeanette died.’
Now there was the first sign that I’d got to him. He put the egg slicer down on the table. He didn’t slam it down, but it made quite a loud noise. He leant towards me, weight on two clenched fists.
‘I’m not having this. It’s completely …’
‘Just like yesterday. You tried to mow down Chess and me!’
He stood up again. ‘Was that you? I didn’t see …’
‘But I saw you! And Wando saw you too. Eight years ago. He knows the car was white.’
‘Eight years ago I didn’t have a white car. I lived in Queensland for Christ’s sake. This is a joke.’ He tossed his head and tried to laugh it off, but he was still rattled.
‘And what about Debbie?’
When I said that he went very still. He stopped trying to laugh. His voice shook with emotion. ‘Now you just be very careful.’
I should have seen the look in his eyes. I should have recognised real danger. But I was beyond noticing things like this. I’d thought it all through and was just pouring it out. ‘Chess and I were in the bakery. You called Debbie. You told her you’d robbed the café and got her some money. She told us she knew about it.’
‘You leave Debbie out of this!’ Andrew’s skin had gone tight and pale. His eyes were glassy with rage. His top lip curled over the words.
I couldn’t stop. ‘Maybe she was going to tell.’
Annie got slowly to her feet. ‘No, Matty. She wasn’t going to say nothing. Andrew did do that café over, but Deb wasn’t going to say nothing about it. She was the one told him where the money was. She’d been working there one morning, filling in for Moya, and she found it. She marked the boxes with red crosses and told Andrew, and he worked out how to get it and Craig helped. Fair enough, but you’ll never prove it. And as for Debs … The money was for her, for the wedding. She would never dob. Debbie loved him. She loved both of ’em.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No way.’ I turned back to Andrew. ‘I reckon she’d had enough. She knew you’d robbed the café and she knew you’d killed Jeanette. She started wearing Jeanette’s necklace to stir you up. And then she went to meet you at the church and then she died.’
He leapt around the table and was on me. But Annie moved quickly too. Just as he grabbed my shoulder she pushed herself between us and put both hands on his chest. She tried to say something but we were both shouting now and neither of us heard her.
Andrew was screaming, ‘You can’t say that! You can’t say that!’
‘It’s not me you have to worry about.’ He still had me, reaching over Annie’s shoulder. I tried to shake him off. ‘Chess has worked it out. And Tara and Wando saw you driving the car.’
‘No, Matt,’ said Annie. ‘It wasn’t Andrew who killed Jeanette.’
‘Wando’s gone, but Tara hasn’t.’
He jerked my shoulder. ‘That little …’
‘I’m not afraid of you! I can make her talk. She’ll speak out in the end.’
‘If that little piece says one word about this …’
He let my shoulder go with a violent shove and tried to get around Annie. I started backing out the door.
‘If she says one word …’
I was down the two steps to the ground, backing away.
Annie had him trapped in the doorway and he wasn’t going to push her aside. He had his hands on either side of the door up high, making sure I could see him over her shoulder. His voice was contorted with rage.
‘That Tara … You’d just better be there, that’s all, Tingle. If you think you can save her! You just better get to her before I do!’
Chapter 26
By the time I got to Tara’s place I was shaking badly and sweating all over. Mrs Roland answered my hammering.
‘Mrs Roland!’ I breathed.
‘Matty.’ She tried to calm me down. ‘Matthew, I really …’
‘Mrs Roland, I know this is completely psychotic. I know you think I’m just a loony but it’s important. It’s so so important.’
‘No, I …’
‘Tara’s in danger. I mean it! Wando set it off by that big rant at the picnic, and now I’ve made sure of it. You have to let me see her.’
She didn’t believe a word. She wasn’t worried about Tara. She was just annoyed.
‘Matthew, I’m sorry. You and Chess have to stop all this. I’m sure you mean well, but Tara is not a strong girl. Ever since that terrible hit and run all those years ago … she is easily upset. You don’t see it, but she is very fragile. And this is making her much worse.’
‘It’s not a game!’
‘Really? Are you sure you’re not all turning it into one? Wando drinking so much … and now you and Chess bothering her like this. I know you’re upset about Debbie’s death, but the way you have all been carrying on is not acceptable. It really has to stop.’
‘I have to see her.’
‘I’m sorry. She isn’t here.’
‘What?!’
Mrs Roland sighed impatiently. ‘She got a phone call from Chess. I wasn’t happy about it, but Tara insisted on going.’
‘Where?’
‘It’ll be the last place I let her go for a while. She badly needs a rest.’
‘Mrs R …’
‘Her father insisted on driving her, but he wasn’t allowed to stay. She said she wanted to walk home. She said she needed time to think.’
‘Gone where?’
‘To Chess’s place. Our old place. Chess wanted to talk to her. S
he’s been there some time. She should be on her way home by now. I suppose you could meet her if you must. Just don’t upset her. As I said she’ll be walking. Somewhere out along Station Road.’
Chapter 27
My chest heaved. Sweat ran into my eyes. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. The bike was heavy under me. I cursed it. I was going nowhere.
I pedalled on, desperate to get around every corner, dreading what I would find, half-expecting to see Tara, lying in the gutter, with people shaking their heads at the horrible accident. More tears, more tragedy, the town ruined again by another terrible death on Devastation Road.
I didn’t see her. I was nearly there. I had only one corner to go.
There was a smell in the air. Something frighteningly familiar and yet not quite the same as before. Smoke. Not melting plastic. Just wood smoke. Above the trees — thick black, grey, brown billows of smoke. Around the corner. Flames — wild, crackling. Furious vicious flames.
Chess’s house was on fire.
Chapter 28
Somewhere I could hear screaming.
There were bright flames behind Chess’s house, licking at the sky. The house was weatherboard. It was going to go up like a torch. I struggled with the two gates and tore around the back, tripping over the lawn mower, shoving aside a deck chair, bumping into the washing machine on the back porch. I hurled myself at the door. It was locked. I ran at it with my shoulder, kicked just above the handle, bounced off. I picked up a tin bucket and smashed a window. Glass splintered and cut my hand. No pain. The catch was jammed. I couldn’t get it open and I couldn’t get through.
In panic I raced around to the front door, my hand leaving a trail of blood. I threw myself at that, too, smashed the window there. Again the hole was jagged and too small. There was no time to carefully knock away the deadly shards and climb through. All I was doing was allowing more air in to the flames.