Now that she had finished this copying she wondered if she should just take the original document to the police and cooperate; pleading self-defence in Mark’s death. But she knew that, with his child and his letter to consider, she could not do this, it would be a final act of betrayal of him to do this before she had spent the time reading the diary and trying to understand.
So now she had to find a secure place to hide the diary. She thought of finding a place in Reading, but it was a bit too obvious should anyone search. Wokingham was the next big town on her side of Reading and she knew it well. There was a company she knew there, that rented out safe deposit boxes, like in a bank but in a private facility, with either key or security code access. She did not want to have a key. It was another thing to carry and link her to a location but an access code was good. She had an excellent memory and would make a couple of backup copies of the numbers. So she drove there, paid three hundred pounds to rent a box for two years and placed the jewels, the original memory card from her camera, which had both the diary photos and the photos from her trip to Australia, and the diary itself into the box. As an afterthought she added in the letter Mark had written to her at the end, it was in her purse. She locked the deposit box door, then drove back home.
Her family would be home in about an hour and she needed to forewarn them. Also, it was possible that she would be front page news in tomorrow’s paper so she needed to move out tonight, lest tomorrow there were journalists at her front door. She packed up her room, leaving things that she did not really need in the cupboards. Once it was done she had two suitcases of clothes and other personal items, and along with a few cardboard boxes of miscellaneous items. She carried these outside and loaded up her car.
She heard someone come in as she was carrying the last boxes to the car. It was Tim, and he must have heard her because next thing he was standing next to her car, looking in at all her things. “What’s up Sis?” he said, looking at all her things. “I thought you were staying here until you flew to Sydney for the wedding.”
His face was so bright and hopeful; he thought of her new life in Australia as an exciting adventure and was looking forward to the wedding trip. He knew nothing of what was coming. She hated the thought of his disappointment, not to mention that of so many others. Susan’s bravado crumbled, she turned her face away. Tim came and put his arm around her shoulders. Now she was crying her heart out, having finally had to acknowledge to herself and someone else, that her whole world was collapsing.
She looked up at his concerned face through her teary eyes. “Oh Tim, it is such a God-awful mess. I can’t get married. I am in big trouble with the Australian police, and I think I am about to be charged with murder. Tomorrow it will probably be on the front page of every newspaper. I have to get away from here. I could not bear to have a thousand sleazy journalists trying to shove cameras into my face.”
She looked up. There was her mother standing a few feet behind Tim, with a totally shocked look on her face, she must have heard it all. But of course, they had come home together from University.
She said, “Susan, what have you done?” It was not condemnation, it was incomprehension. Susan found herself crying so much that she was unable to speak. She had not meant to tell them like this, she had intended to be in control.
Within a minute her mother had picked up her mobile and dialled her father. “You need to get home right now, Susan needs you, take a taxi to Paddington and catch the next fast train.”
Then her mother brought her into the kitchen and made her a cup of tea. “No talking until your Dad gets home, it is best if you tell us all properly once, rather than have to say it over again to each of us.”
Susan sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea and slice of cake while her mother clucked around. She liked this domestic certainty and hated the thought that it was about to end. From tomorrow this life would be over and she hated that thought.
As she sat and waited the phone rang. Her mother picked it up. “It is David and he demands to talk to you, I think that this is something you must do”.
Susan took the phone, his voice came down the line, he said, “Is that you Susan?” She could barely answer she was crying so much, all she could say, over and over again, was, “Oh David, I am so sorry,” along with a few other incoherent phrases.
In the end her Mum took back the phone and talked to David for a while. She could tell her Mum was trying to talk him out of flying straight to England. “No I think she is too upset for that at the moment, she needs to try and work this out herself first, I will ask her to talk to you when she is less upset. I promise I will tell her you love her and don’t want to call it off”
Finally her Mum put down the phone, looking weary and resigned. She came over and put her arms around Susan, hugging her the way she had when she was a little girl. They stayed like that, in a wordless embrace, until they heard her father arrive.
Susan told them the story, similar to what she told Anne, but without the intimate parts, or the part about the diary or missing girls. At first there were no questions and she just talked. Then her father’s practical brain started to ask questions, the how and what, the options.
At first Susan tried to answer them, but finally she put her hands up. “You need to stop now Dad; you cannot undo this, I cannot undo this, nobody can undo this. The police will investigate and I will neither help nor hinder them, I won’t resist any charges they lay, I will tell the truth in court if it comes to that. I am tired of running and hiding this. And I am going to have this man’s baby, good or bad as that may be.
“The reason I need to disappear now is that I need privacy from the press, I don’t want to feed the gossip or speculation. You will have my phone number and address though it is best if you don’t come around in case someone follows you, and I won’t come back home for now though we can meet somewhere else now and then.”
That was the end of the talking. After that they ate a subdued family dinner. It was very poignant as she hugged them all to say goodbye. Her father said, “You know we are all here for you, Susan. We will support you, no matter what.”
Her mother said, “How about we all try to meet for a family dinner once a week. We can start with a restaurant meal until we see what happens.”
Tim said, “Can’t wait to read about you in the paper and discover all the awful things you are supposed to have done. I have never had a family member who is a true celebrity.”
Her father cuffed his ears, her Mum tried to look outraged, but Susan laughed for the first time all day. “Trust you to find a silver lining, you publicity junkie.”
Susan got into the car and drove away, trying to feel upbeat about her future.
Chapter 17 – The Diary
The flat was even more disgusting than Susan had imagined with a mouldy airless smell. She opened the windows for a minute but the air outside was freezing. It took three loads to carry all her things upstairs. She almost wished the police would lay charges tomorrow to get her out of this hole. So much for the life of a recluse!
She had planned to do work tonight, to begin reading the diary and compiling her own narrative which summarised it. But she felt too depressed and apathetic. In the end she just crawled into her bed. Her one real comfort was a big fluffy doona that her Mum insisted she take, and on this sat her favourite teddy which she hugged to herself. She picked up her mobile phone; there were three missed calls and messages from Anne.
She dialled and spent five minutes talking to Anne. David had taken it much worse than even Anne had expected, she said it was awful and she had ended up feeling really sorry for him. “You are right he really is such a decent guy,” she said. “He said he will only postpone the wedding for now; he will not call it off or break the engagement until he meets with you and hears it from your mouth. But at least it is all put on hold for now. I have promised to ring him each week and tell him any news about you I can; I hope that is alright.”
Susan said
that was fine and thanked her friend profusely; she knew it had been a terrible job to give Anne, cowardice on her own part. But at least it was done now. She told her about Tim’s parting comments which made Anne laugh and then she said goodnight.
Awful though it all was, and particularly the place she was staying in, she did feel better now. It was as if she had closed the door to a part of her life and could begin to look towards another part, bleak though that seemed from here.
She drifted off to sleep. Tonight her dream of Mark came back, but it was as if, while he was in her arms, he was temporarily free of the crocodile spirit. He told her that while he was with her he was free of his past, in a happy place, and his crocodile spirit was pushed away. He loved her and she loved him and it was wonderful.
She told him about the child he had made and he pushed his face against her belly, as if to hear the beating heart of new life. She stroked the short hair on the back of his head. They made plans to live in their own secret place, somewhere in the heart of Australia where no one would ever find them, and have children by the score. It was a sort of mixed up place that they went to, with the tribe of running brown bodies from that morning tea at Seven Emus.
Susan woke in the morning wishing the night could have lasted forever. Now she did not want to let go of sleep, and wished it was night again so that they could resume their loving.
She got up and washed, then dressed herself in warm winter clothes to keep the chill at bay. It seemed strange to have a day with nothing to do. She walked down the street and found a corner shop where she bought enough supplies to last a couple days, along with the morning paper. It made no mention of her on the front pages. She bought a copy and settled into a seat in the corner of the café to read. On page seven she found a small article which mentioned herself.
“Australian police have sought the assistance of Scotland Yard to investigate an English connection to the likely murder of a man in the Northern Territory. This man, dubbed Crocodile Man, was first thought to have been taken by a crocodile but then a post mortem revealed he had been murdered.
This man has now been identified as Mark Bennet of Alice Springs. Scotland Yard has been asked to interview an English citizen, Susan McDonald, as a person of interest. It is believed that Miss McDonald was last seen travelling with Mr Bennet shortly before his murder. Susan McDonald is believed to have returned to London. Scotland Yard has declined to comment.”
So the hounds were out and pursuing the fox. Susan was pleased that no picture of her had yet emerged. Once this happened she would have to be much more careful going out in public. Perhaps she would need a head scarf and dark glasses.
After half an hour she returned to her flat. She transferred all the image files to her tiny memory card, for now she would only work on that. One by one she checked them to ensure that all were of good quality. A couple of times she found duplicates which she discarded. A few pictures she rotated or cropped slightly to make them easier to read. She decided that for now she would work and read on her laptop, it was easier. But she would leave no files on it, only work off the ones on the memory card.
She opened a new word document, she would use this to compile and keep track on what she found. She named this “The Diary” and saved the blank document. A quick scan of the diary contents showed that it appeared to be mostly chronological but often without dates to link to, sometimes things like Saturday or two days later, but only occasionally a real date which she could fix in time. Then there would be places with business notations, work orders, and other information. Things like, “booked to work Argyle Mine, 23-30 August, Halls Creek 250 litres, fuel, Ring Fred Smith 89887018.” It would be hard going picking the wheat from the chaff.
She decided she would try and find the place where Mark first mentioned her name, or something that sounded like her. Then at least she would have some sort of narrative to work with. She started at the end and worked backwards, just scanning for her name or a description of some place that sounded like where they had been together. She skipped back about six pages seeing occasional references or things about herself. Her eyes caught something.
“Beach Girl, beautiful. She stands there with her toes in the little waves, hair flung back like a Greek goddess, arms stretched out to the morning sun. She is enchanting and I want to know who she is. I stand on the shore path, watching her in the bright light. When she looks my way I move behind trees, now I can only glimpse her. Then she comes my way, I keep out of sight, it might look like I am spying.
She has stopped at an ice cream stand. Now she walks on, licking a cone with such pleasure, the ice cream trickles down her fingers and she licks it off. I wish I was an ice cream drop. Now she is looking at tour signs, perhaps I can accidentally meet her on a tour. She goes into a shop. I see her discussing her choices with the man at the counter. Now she is booking, now she is finished. I must go inside and see if I can get him to book me on the same tour. I pull on my eagle cap and some dark glasses to hide my face. She passes me at the door, leaving as I enter. Her eyes are beautiful, cornflower summer blue. I see her and I am entranced. Even though she looks at me she sees me not.
Quickly I go inside, pretending to be rushing and running late, apologising as I go. I say - My girlfriend has just made a reservation for some tours here. She was just leaving as I came in, the girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. Can you book me on the same tours please?
‘Sure - so that will see you on the Quicksilver tour to the outer reef tomorrow.’ I agree. ‘How about the Kuranda Rainforest by Train tour the next day?’. Two trips in two days where I run into her may seem a bit obvious. I say ‘No, I will skip that.’ I pay my money but the confirmation is slow. I want to rush out and see where she goes.
By the time I come out she has vanished. Was it a dream, did I imagine something so lovely. Tomorrow I will find out.”
This entry was followed by a few doodles and notations then another entry.
“I feel like I am in love, I don’t think I have really ever felt like this before. I have had so many girls and many of them have been beautiful. But this is different. I have only talked to her for half an hour over lunch and spent an hour diving with her yesterday. It was delightful, we were sharing a meal and she was telling me about her life, with that soft English charm. She told me where she was staying, the Excelsior Hotel and where she was going on to, Magnetic Island. I suggested a hostel there to stay at. Now the seed is in her mind I think she will remember and go there. Magnetic Island is for three days, so I will find her even if she chooses another place, and when she sees me she will think I am a long lost friend.
Today would have been perfect except that, at the end of lunch, she met another English girl and then they were talking like two old school friends, sharing jokes I don’t understand. So I left her to her friend’s conversation and declined to go diving with them both together.
Tonight I went to her hotel to ask her out for a drink but she had already gone out elsewhere. So I left her a note.
I am sure I will find her again. She is too lovely to let her escape so easily. Today I found two stones in my pouch that match her eyes. They are my two most favourite pale blue ovals. I will send them off to be made into a pendant and a ring, which I hope to give her when I meet her next.”
Then another couple days later she read.
“I found her again yesterday. She was staying at the hostel where I suggested she go. It was like an electric shock passed between us when I saw her again. She was wearing the skimpiest bikini, the same cornflour blue as her eyes. It barely covered anything. I could not help but look and she knew I looked and liked my looking. Instead we sat side by side and ate lunch together, gazing out to the sea. Each time our bodies lightly brushed I could feel a jolt of connection between us.
Then we walked to the beach at the end of the headland and made love in the waves. Wow, nothing has ever been this good. Then we slept together under the stars. I have just sent her to her own bed, as th
e first dawn light comes. Every time I look at her blue eyes my insides turn to mush. I am definitely in love. What will come of it – who knows, I am not good to be around, and I must be careful, so, so very, very careful. She is too precious to harm.”
Susan put her laptop down. It was too beautiful and she could not bear to read anymore right now. It was as he had said in his letter. Did she love him so quickly, as he loved her? Perhaps not quite, but it had been extraordinarily fast. It was hard to separate the joy and pleasure of the sex from the love of the man; she certainly was in love with him by the time she left Magnetic Island. She wished she had told him then and there, not held it inside, lest it sound like over-commitment.
She also now knew he had purposefully set out to entrap her, the man with the eagle cap, but she did not care. She would want him to do it again, in just the same way as that, if the chance came again. The only difference was she would tell him how she felt straight away. She regretted the time wasted while they had danced around their feelings for one another; it was not until the last night, when it was really too late, that it had all come tumbling out.
She decided she would savour these words in Mark’s diary slowly, draw out the pleasure, taking in small bits each day. She knew there would be bad bits too, where he told of the other girls and what he had done. But she did not care. In the last hour she had discovered the Mark she loved, hidden within the other.
His words were like beautiful poetry, a song of bush ballads. She had glimpsed the poetry of his mind in the stories he told, but the words he wrote were much richer.
Now she would walk in the late autumn leaves and savour his words in her mind, roll them off her tongue. Then she would return to her little room and return to him in her dreams.
Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3 Page 40