by Amos, Gina
Once dressed, Jill sat down on the lounge with her laptop and glanced across at The Morning Show on the television. She picked up the remote and turned the volume to low, and then double-clicked on the folder she’d created on Robbie.
With no other real leads, she decided to start from scratch — their childhood. Robbie and Fin had gone to live with their grandmother after their parents had died in a car accident. She needed to speak to someone who knew Robbie and Fin when they were children and knew their grandmother. It could be just a coincidence, but around the time the grandmother died Robbie’s behaviour changed; at least according to Fin. It was a long shot but something in Robbie and Fin’s past may explain what led Robbie to his death and explain Fin’s strange behaviour.
Jill tried to remember if Robbie had ever mentioned where his grandmother had lived. She thought it was Katoomba. Calloway was not a common name so when she checked the white pages she found two Calloways in Sydney; one in Pendle Hill and the other in Balgowlah. There was only one listing in Katoomba. She wrote down the address and phone number. She dialled the number but it was disconnected. It was worth trying the neighbour, they may know something. She did another address look-up, got the name, and then used it to find the number. When she made the call, there was no answer. She tried the same procedure again, but this time a few doors down from where Grace Calloway had lived. Someone answered on the first ring.
‘Hello?’ The voice was low, male.
‘Yes, hello. My name’s Detective Jill Brennan. I’m calling from Chatswood Police. I’m looking for someone who might have known a Mrs Grace Calloway.’
‘Yeah, I knew Gracie. The wife and I went to her funeral.’
‘Can I have your name please, sir?’
‘Yeah, it’s Allan, Allan Briggs.’
‘Mr Briggs, can I ask how long you’ve lived in Milton Street?’
‘About five years, came up to the Mountains to retire after I left the job at the steelworks down south.’
So Allan Briggs would never have met Robbie and Fin. They would have already left Katoomba by then. ‘Is there anyone still living in the street who might have known the Calloways from before 2001?’
‘Let me think. There’s Maureen Hardcastle. She was Gracie’s next-door neighbour. I remember speaking to her at the funeral. But she’s not living there anymore. The family shuffled her off to a nursing home, she was having trouble with her memory.’
‘I don’t suppose you know which nursing home?’
‘Haven’t a clue, sorry love.’
Jill thanked him for his help and a few phone calls later she found Maureen Hardcastle at the Burlington Aged Care Home in Katoomba.
Jill thought about the police shows she watched on television. There were similarities to real policing, but it was never that straightforward, a murder investigation could take months or years to solve. In some cases, the crime went unsolved. The script writers of the shows made it look so easy — a person is murdered, a witness comes forward, a chase ensues, a twist, maybe a red herring or two thrown in for good measure, and an hour later the bad guy is behind bars. An hour…yeah, that’d be nice.
To regain her credibility Jill had to find proof Robbie had been pushed, or at least proof he’d fallen accidentally, from the clock tower. Maureen Hardcastle might be just the person to help. Jill drove across the Parramatta River and followed the GPS prompts to the entrance of the motorway. When she drove onto the M4 she put her foot down. She’d rung through to the nursing home before she’d left the outskirts of Sydney. Maureen Hardcastle would be expecting her, if she remembered.
THIRTY-ONE
The common room of the nursing home smelt of mild disinfectant. Curtains flanked picture windows that looked out onto a native garden. A handful of residents chatted while others had vacant looks on their faces. A pleasant enough place, Jill thought. A John Wayne re-run was playing on the television and a nurse was pushing a trolley, dispensing medication. She smiled at the wrinkled faces. They all had that disappointed, exhausted look of old age, of regret and acceptance of what their lives had become.
Jill asked at reception for Maureen Hardcastle. The woman was about to point her out when a stooped, bony man with big ears shuffled past. ‘Maureen’s over there, by the window — she’s the pretty one.’
‘Thanks.’ Jill gave him a nod and headed toward Maureen.
‘You must be from the police,’ Maureen said when Jill walked up to her.
Jill looked into the woman’s eyes; the rims were red, the irises almost colourless. ‘Yes, that’s right, my name is Detective Jill Brennan. I wanted to ask you about Robbie and Fin Calloway and their grandmother, Grace Calloway.’
‘You don’t look like the police. You’re too young.’
Jill smiled and flashed her ID. Lucky she hadn’t been officially suspended; otherwise she wouldn’t even have her ID to fall back on. Maureen put on a pair of reading glasses and examined Jill’s warrant card. She considered the likeness and said her hair looked nice in a ponytail.
‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’ Jill asked.
‘You’ll have to be quick about it; I’m about to have my lunch. We’re having roast lamb, today.’
Jill moved Maureen’s walker to one side and sat down next to her. ‘I wanted to ask what you remember about Robbie and Fin Calloway.’ Jill raised her voice. ‘They lived next door to you when they were growing up.’
‘There’s no need to shout, dear. I’m old, not deaf.’
Jill apologised and decided she liked the woman.
‘You want to know about Robbie and Fin, you said? They aren’t in any trouble are they?’
‘No, I just have some routine questions.’ Jill thought it was best not to mention Robbie’s death in case she upset the woman before she extracted any information from her.
‘So, do you remember Robbie and Fin?’ Jill looked at Maureen Hardcastle and wondered how reliable her memory was.
‘There are some people you never forget.’ Maureen looked off into the distance and Jill took her hand, thinking it would return her to the present. She pressed her arthritic fingers. They were cold.
‘The children came to live with Gracie after their parents died in that horrible car accident. You shouldn’t blame her, you know.’ Maureen pursed her pale, thin lips.
‘Gracie?’
Maureen nodded.
‘Shouldn’t blame Gracie for what?’
‘It was a hard decision to make, but she couldn’t do it to her son he…’ She stopped herself short.
Jill looked into the woman’s eyes. ‘What decision did Gracie have to make?’
‘Oh, I can’t tell you that, dear. I promised Gracie I would never tell another living soul. I will take her secret to the grave.’
‘But this could be important.’ Jill leaned forward. ‘Can’t you tell me anything? It’s for Fin…she’s not well.’
The woman seemed to be studying her. ‘It was Patrick he…’
‘Patrick?’
‘Yes dear, Patrick. He was Gracie’s son, from her first marriage. He left around the time Fin was fourteen.’
‘You coming to lunch, Maureen?’ said the man with the big ears.
‘You go along; I’ll be there shortly. Poor man, he’s lost his marbles,’ Maureen whispered.
Jill smiled but knew she had to wrap this conversation up quickly before Maureen was reminded again of her lamb roast lunch. ‘Tell me more about this Patrick.’
‘I’m sorry, dear I’ve already said too much.’ Maureen grabbed the side of the armchair and stood up. ‘We’re having roast lamb today, you know.’ She struggled to reach her walker. ‘Oh, but I told you that already, didn’t I? Yes, I’m sure I did.’
Jill got to her feet and helped Maureen with her walker. ‘But Gracie Calloway is dead, surely you can tell me, now.’
‘I’m not the type to betray a friend, even if she is dead.’
‘But —’
Maureen Hardcastle waved her finge
r at Jill. ‘A promise is a promise.’
Jill walked with Maureen to the dining room in the far wing. The smell of lamb and baked potatoes spread down the corridor. ‘I can’t talk to you anymore, my lunch will be getting cold.’
‘Just one more question.’ Jill looked over at the woman from reception who she’d spoken to earlier. She had a scowl on her face and was headed their way.
‘Maureen, what were Robbie and Fin like as children? Did they ever get into any trouble?’
‘Robbie was a good kid, but Fin, she was strange. Sitting up in that Jacaranda tree in Gracie’s backyard, all day, playing those silly games of hers. She fell out of that tree once, you know, landed on her head.’ Maureen laughed. ‘I don’t think she was ever the same after that. She was always going on about castles and towers and the like, wanted everyone to call her princess.’
‘Maureen, there you are my precious.’ ‘Big Ears’ was waiting for Maureen by the door to the dining room. Nothing was standing between Maureen and her routine.
The beams from the car headlights bounced off the wet road in front of her. Jill turned on the fog lights and pushed on through the tangle of traffic on the motorway, convinced Robbie’s death had something to do with Grace Calloway’s secret. Maureen Hardcastle would clearly do anything to protect that secret. Unless old age was working on her mind, which meant it was something big, a secret worth protecting at all costs. Jill wondered what she could do to convince her to talk.
Jill arrived home around five o’clock. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap and poured herself a glass. She walked over to the dining table, sat down and opened up her laptop. Her mind went immediately to her conversation with Maureen Hardcastle. Jill decided to check out the birth, deaths and marriages register. Maureen had mentioned the name Patrick, and Jill knew from her training that sometimes the person who found the body was the person responsible for the death. So she started with Patrick Hill. Was it possible the Patrick Maureen spoke of could be Patrick Hill?
It didn’t take long to confirm her suspicion. Jill put her hands behind her head and sat back in her chair. Patrick Hill was the same Patrick Maureen knew…Gracie’s son from a first marriage, which made him Fin and Robbie’s half-uncle. He’d changed his family name from Reilly to Hill around the time he left Katoomba. If Robbie had ever tried to find Patrick he would have been searching for Patrick Reilly not Patrick Hill. So, if nothing else, there was a family connection between the two men. Now why wouldn’t Patrick mention that to the police? She recorded relevant dates, including the date Patrick was born. Next, she searched Robbie’s birth details. Now, it all made sense. Why hadn’t she thought to look for this information before? She couldn’t wait to tell Rimis about the connection. She picked up her phone but then changed her mind. She’d need more proof. So what if Robbie and Patrick Hill were related that didn’t mean anything. Or did it? Jill checked her watch. It wasn’t too late. She grabbed her phone and dialled the Burlington Aged Care Home. This time she wouldn’t let Maureen Hardcastle sideline her. She sat back in her chair and waited for her call to be answered.
THIRTY-TWO
Fin parked her car on Balmain Road and made her way on foot to Callan Park, clutching a bunch of flowers. The sun has been out earlier but now grey clouds hung overhead, an obvious sign rain was on its way — again. She walked through the grounds, stopping occasionally to look at the details of a particular building or the signs, like the one that told her the building in front of her was Ward 18. She wondered what had gone on inside the ward and in all the other abandoned buildings scattered around the place now left to rot. If it were another time, she would have been sent to a place like this and then, like many others, would have been conveniently forgotten.
A light, rain-filled breeze drifted in from Iron Cove and caressed her cheeks. She caught a scent of perfume from the flowers she was carrying. A man in a striped shirt striding out in front of his dog smiled at her when he walked past. She shoved her free hand in the pocket of her coat and walked a little faster.
She spun around, her head buzzed, the landscape a blur; tree-lined avenues, bitumen paths, blocks of sandstone — primitive and raw, a dog, its tongue trailing from its mouth, a gravel car park, cars parked at odd angles, cracked muddy puddles now the rain had stopped and the sun was out.
Her feet followed the familiar path and when she reached the tower, her heart sank. The tower was stained grey from the recent rain and Fin tried to imagine from what point Robbie jumped, and then followed the trajectory to where he might have landed. The tears came. How had it come to this? When had it started? With her drinking? Or did it go further back than that to when her parents had died? Or was it when Uncle Patrick started to look at her differently? She knelt and laid the flowers by the door. She noticed the brass lock, which had already been replaced. And someone had nailed a sign to the door. It said: Danger, Keep out.
Fin drove onto the M4. It was usually a ninety-minute drive to the Blue Mountains but with the traffic the way it was, it was going to take longer. She wouldn’t arrive now until after dark.
The sound of the wipers snapping back and forth on the windscreen reminded her of a metronome. The piano lessons she’d been forced to take as a child had been a waste of time. She’d been more interested in the polished timber pyramid box and the regular ticking of the steel pointer, than the ivory keys at her fingertips.
She shifted gears and took her foot off the accelerator. She’d been making excellent time up until now. The traffic inched forward. Police sirens screamed up ahead. She fumbled inside her bag and found a pack of cigarettes — only two left. She wound down the window and lit up.
The driver of the car in front of her got out and stood in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips and stared into the distance. She watched him through the windscreen, flicked ash out of the window and thought of Robbie. Death, like a thief, crept up on you when you least expected it.
Fifteen minutes later, the traffic began to move. Fin saw the reason for the holdup. A minor collision between a white delivery truck and a family sedan. Fin had smoked the last of her cigarettes; looked at the road sign that said the next turn-off was five kilometres up ahead. She took the exit, drove through heavy fog and pulled up outside the Lapstone Hotel.
A cosy fire in the sports bar of the Hotel crackled and glowed in the stone fireplace. On her way to the bar, Fin walked past a few old-timers on vinyl bar stools. The barman asked what he could get her. She ordered two whiskey shots and a pack of cigarettes. While she waited, she noticed a group of men playing pool in the room behind the bar. A sharp ceramic click-click signalled a fresh break on the pool table. Their laughter irritated her.
After she’d paid for the drinks and cigarettes, she took a seat at a table close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. She swallowed the first mouthful of whiskey. It burned her throat. She swallowed again; felt the warmth spread through her body.
The man at the next table stared at her. Spidery, purple lines ran up his cheeks — the signs of a heavy drinker. He pushed his chair back, walked to the bar, and a few minutes later returned with a schooner of frothy beer. He winked at her. ‘Filthy weather, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘They reckon it will snow before the weekend.’ He took a gulp of his beer. ‘So love, you staying the night?’
Fin noticed his stubby nicotine-stained fingers, the gravelly tone of his voice — everything about him irritated her. She didn’t reply straight away. Instead, she looked at the door. ‘I have to get going.’ She gathered her cigarettes and lighter from the table. He was still staring at her. Fin had seen that look before and wondered if she had said or done something to offend him or had encouraged him in some way. With Robbie gone, she would have to be careful what she said to men and the way she behaved in front of them.
Fin rushed back to her car and started the engine. She shivered, turned the heater up and looked back at the hotel. She half expected the man to rush out and try to get in th
e car beside her. She threw her cigarettes into her bag and backed out of the car space in a hurry.
An hour later Fin walked up to the check-in desk in the wood-panelled reception area of the Katoomba Hotel and asked about her booking. While she waited for her room key, she stood in front of the open fire to warm herself. She rubbed her hands together and realised any visitor to the Blue Mountains would expect the warmth and ambience of such a fire.
Once she had her key, she took the two flights of carpeted stairs to her room. The room had cost sixty dollars for the night and for budget accommodation it was clean and cosy, but didn’t have its own bathroom. A shared bathroom was located down the hall.
The bed looked comfortable enough and she threw her carry-all down on it and began to unpack her pyjamas and toiletry bag. She would have stayed at her grandmother’s house but the gas had already been disconnected and without the gas heaters she would have frozen to death.
The only window in the hotel room looked out onto an empty car park, and beyond that she could make out the rear of an Italian restaurant, a pet store and a laundromat. She couldn’t see the mountains, but if she’d wanted a view she would have gone somewhere more upmarket. Besides, she wasn’t here for the sights; she was here to speak to the real estate agent about selling her grandmother’s house and to finish sorting her grandmother’s possessions. She and Robbie had planned to do it together. Now it was up to her.
THIRTY-THREE
Jill dialled Rimis’s mobile number. ‘Boss, it’s me.’
‘What are you doing ringing me? You’re on leave. You’re supposed to be getting your head together.’
‘I drove to Katoomba today,’ Jill said.
‘That’s good to hear, the Blue Mountains are nice this time of year.’
‘While I was there I paid a visit to Grace Calloway’s neighbour. She remembered Robbie and Fin from when they were kids.’