I glanced over at Dad and gasped. He looked bad. His face was crumpled, not just around the edges the way it had been before, but all the way in. I hadn’t seen him like this since right after I’d died. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Catching.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to her. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Her lip curled. ‘I told you. You’re too late to save me.’
‘I know.’ His voice broke. My gaze flicked from him to her, puzzled. Then Catching said, ‘It’s about a hundred paces to the west. We shut it up. Took the keys. But it’ll be open for you.’
‘The keys to what?’ I asked. ‘What’s a hundred paces to the west?’
Neither of them answered me. Dad rose to his feet. All the way to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height in a way that made me realise he’d been slumping for months. His crumpled face smoothed out into hard, clear lines. I hadn’t seen him like this since I was alive.
The lines in his face were deeper now, carved by pain, but otherwise he looked like the Dad I’d known. Better, even – he looked like the man he would become, in a world where he lived even though I didn’t. And I didn’t know if Catching’s story had taken him to a new place too, or if he’d been changing for a while deep inside, or if it was a combination of both.
‘Beth,’ Dad said, ‘it’s time to go.’
I hesitated, looking at Catching. But she didn’t seem fragile the way she’d done after telling the earlier parts of her story. This ending had drained her, but it also seemed to have released something. There was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before.
Catching looked back at me and grinned. I blinked, not sure I was seeing right, but I was. An actual smile.
‘Go on, Teller,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later. And don’t worry so much. You’ll know when you know.’
My mind circled the end of Catching’s story as I followed Dad out of the room, trying to puzzle out what it all meant. But as we emerged from the hospital, her last words suddenly seemed like excellent advice. I’d know when I knew, and in the meantime it was nice just to walk alongside Dad when he was so tall. I’d almost forgotten what it was like for him to be the teller and me the butterfly girl.
So I didn’t ask any questions about where we were headed, or why, as we drove away. It was only when Dad called Allie to arrange for her to meet us that I learned we were going back to the beginning.
As we neared the home, though, Dad stopped the car.
‘We can drive in further,’ I said, pointing to the stretch of narrow road ahead. ‘Heaps further.’
‘I know,’ Dad replied. ‘And I will. But I need to talk to you about something first.’
There was a grimness in his voice that I didn’t like. I’m not worrying about things right now, Dad. You are. ‘What is it?’ I asked warily.
‘There’s going to be a point today when we get to a place, and when we get there, you can’t come in. I need you to promise me that you won’t.’
He wanted me to stay away from something? I could do that. ‘Okay.’
‘This is important, Beth.’
‘I said okay.’ He continued to stare at me with worry in his face, until I added in a more serious voice, ‘Really, Dad. I won’t.’
He nodded, satisfied, and drove on to the home. Allie was already there, leaning against the side of her car and staring at the trees as she waited.
Dad parked and got out, walking over to Allie. ‘Did you bring what I asked for?’
She nodded, waving at two torches sitting on the bonnet of her car. Dad grabbed a torch and headed towards the ruins of the home. Allie took the other torch and followed after him.
‘You really think there’s something left out here to find?’ she asked. ‘The whole area was already searched.’
‘Derek Bell was in charge of that search, yeah?’
‘Um … yes. Does that matter?’
‘Yes. I think it does.’
Dad reached the edge of the ruins, swivelled, and began to walk away.
To the west.
In even strides.
That he was counting under his breath.
Catching had meant one hundred paces from the home, and I didn’t know how Dad had known that. But then, he’d been on the trail of an idea about this case since yesterday morning at Bell’s place. And even thinking about what that idea might be made my head hurt again, like my brain was complaining about having to make connections too soon. I let my thoughts go and trailed after Dad and Allie, enjoying the walk through the cool morning air.
When Dad reached eighty paces, the wind came sweeping along the ground to gust past us, as if it was travelling ahead. Crow? Like in the story? I looked back, half-expecting to see her, but there was no one there.
Dad kept going until he reached one hundred and stopped.
There was nothing here except trees and dirt.
‘Did you get a tip or something?’ Allie asked, in a tone that indicated that perhaps the tip hadn’t been very reliable.
‘Something like that,’ Dad replied. He didn’t seem discouraged. Instead, he turned in a slow circle to survey his surroundings. After a second, he spotted something and took off at a run. Allie rushed after him and I rushed after her, the two of us tearing after him through the trees and into a big clearing.
There didn’t seem to be anything here either. But Dad had stopped again and become fascinated with the ground. He was scanning the dirt, his gaze travelling back and forth across the space. Then he hurried forward into the shadow of an overhanging rock.
‘Here!’ he called.
I ran over and so did Allie. There was a metal door set into the ground, pushed back on its hinges to reveal a ladder going downwards.
Allie gasped. ‘What is that?’
‘You told me yourself that old Oscar Sholt thought the apocalypse was coming. I think he built a bunker.’
Allie peered at something dark caked on the door. She paled. ‘Is that dried blood?’
‘Looks like it to me.’
‘Hello?’ she yelled. ‘Anyone down there?’
There was no answer. Allie shook her head. ‘Someone could be hurt.’ She clicked on her torch, tucked it under her chin, and began to descend the ladder.
Dad shot a stern look in my direction. I crossed the clearing to sit on a fallen log and called over to him, ‘See? Not going anywhere. I wouldn’t break a promise to you, Dad.’
He gave me an approving nod and climbed down the ladder after Allie, his feet echoing on the rungs as he disappeared into the earth below.
I rested my hands on the log and leaned back, listening to the rush of water from the river in the distance. The air was sharp with the tang of eucalypt from the trees, and sunlight was filtering through the leaves to create patterns of light and shade on the ground. This seemed a pretty, peaceful place, and I was content to sit here for a while.
In the quiet, my mind felt as if it was relaxing into a new shape, adjusting to whatever shift had occurred within me as I’d been listening to Catching’s story. Calm flowed from my brain through my body. For the first time since I’d died, I felt as if everything would be okay.
Then I noticed something glinting on the earth nearby and went over for a better look.
It was a pair of glasses, half buried in the dirt.
Catching’s story and my experiences in this town suddenly slammed together. Connections fired and popped through my mind. I yelped in pain, clutching my hands to my head as everything meshed into one sequence of events. Then it was over, and I let my hands fall, looking around the clearing with new eyes.
The fallen log I’d been sitting on was at one side of the clearing.
On the other, the overhanging rock Dad had ducked under resembled an egg lying on its side.
There were mirror-eyes in the dirt at my feet.
This clearing was where the Fetchers had taken Isobel Catching. The tunnels were the bunker. The cage of birds with its white wooden bars was t
he weatherboard children’s home. And I’d seen these gold-rimmed glasses before – in the photograph Dad had shown me when we’d first come to the home.
One of the Feeds was Alexander Sholt.
His was the body found after the fire.
And I knew who’d killed him. I knew who’d killed them all.
Sounds came from the bunker. Someone was climbing the ladder and they were doing it fast. Allie came bolting out and dashed into the trees to double over and throw up.
Steadier footsteps followed hers, and Dad came out too. He didn’t vomit. But he looked like he wanted to. He walked to the rock and put both hands against it, leaning into the stone and ducking his head to take one deep breath after another.
After a few more minutes of retching, Allie ran out of food to bring up. She straightened, wiping the back of her arm across her face, and called in a shaky voice, ‘I’m going to the river. To wash out my mouth.’
Dad waved his hand in acknowledgement but kept leaning into the rock. I walked over to him, but I didn’t speak. He didn’t seem capable of talking right now.
Eventually Allie returned, weaving through the trees and back into the clearing. She was dead white and seemed to have aged ten years.
Dad straightened as she approached. The two of them exchanged a long, worn-out look, as if they were carrying the weight of the world between them.
Allie spoke first: ‘People were held in there.’
‘Girls,’ Dad said. ‘More than one.’
She gave a jerky nod. ‘There was a jacket. On a table. I don’t know if you saw—’
‘I saw.’
‘Of course you did.’ She hugged her arms around herself. ‘The thing is, I know that jacket. It’s Derek Bell’s. I’ve seen him wear it a thousand times. This … this was what he was involved in, wasn’t it?’
The second Feed.
And I’d met him.
Talked to him.
Not known what he was.
Catching had once told Dad he’d say there was no such thing as monsters. There were. But me and the rest of the world had only seen the men.
‘I think he was a part of it, yes,’ Dad said to Allie. ‘Along with Alexander Sholt. And Director Cavanagh and Nurse Flint, who were both being paid off. For their silence, I assume. And their cooperation. Some of the victims could have been from the home.’
She made a gasping sound, as if someone had struck her chest. ‘How could they be a part of this? How could anyone? And for money?’
‘Not just money. Power. Importance. The kind of sick delight people like that get out of things like this. I never did meet Cavanagh or Flint.’ His gaze flicked to me, then away. ‘But they strike me as people with no moral core.’
No heart, no guts, no core of self. Here, they serve the Feed.
Allie’s eyes widened. ‘We need to put a warrant out for Alex Sholt! He could be—’
Dad held up a hand. ‘First, I asked my boss yesterday to get people onto Sholt. But second, I’m certain we’re going to find that the body from the fire at the home is Alexander Sholt.’
She blinked, absorbing that. Dad drew in a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself for something, and I knew what it would be. He was looking at Allie with such compassion that it was obvious what news he was about to break. I wished he didn’t have to tell her. I figured he probably wished that too, every time he had to tell a family that someone wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know how he could bear it.
He gave her one piece of information at a time, trying to lead her to it: ‘I think Derek Bell and Alexander Sholt started down this path a very long time ago. Back when they were teenagers. We’re going to have to bring in dogs to search this area for bodies, and we’ll find more than one. I think we’ll even find the first one.’
She nodded, like that made sense. She didn’t understand. Not until Dad added gently, ‘And I think the first one was buried around twenty years ago.’
Shock rippled across her face. ‘No.’
He sighed. ‘Allie—’
She took a step back, holding up a hand like she could ward off his words. ‘Sarah’s not dead. She’s alive. She’s alive, and she’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to find her!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dad said quietly. ‘We are going to find her. But not alive.’
Her hand dropped. She staggered to the fallen log and sat. Dad went over to sit beside her. Dad was still tall, but Allie had become little and was growing littler by the second.
When she spoke, even her voice was tiny: ‘We need to get police out here. To process all this. And it has to be the ones from the city.’ Her lips curved into a bitter snarl. ‘Not me, or any other cop too dumb to see what their boss really is.’
‘You—’
But she rounded on him. ‘Don’t even try to tell me this isn’t my fault. I should have known. I was her best friend. And I’m a police officer.’
‘Then be a police officer!’ he snapped back. Her mouth fell open in surprise.
Dad waved at the bunker. ‘You think this is the end of the investigation? It’s just the beginning. Did children go missing from that home? And how many people whose job it was to check on the welfare of kids failed to notice something was wrong here? Who else around here did know? I can tell you now, I think Derek’s father covered for his son. I’ll bet Alexander Sholt’s father knew something too, even if it wasn’t all of it.’
Allie closed her mouth, an arrested expression on her face. ‘That was why Gerry Bell didn’t investigate properly? It was on purpose? How about the deaths of Nurse Flint and Director Cavanagh – do you think Derek had something to do with that? But … he was killed too.’
‘He was, and probably with the same weapon,’ Dad said. ‘Sholt died first. So maybe there was a falling-out between Sholt and Derek, and Derek kills him. The fire’s just faulty wiring, bad luck – but it throws everything into chaos.
‘After that, I think it could have gone something like this: Derek convinces Charles Sholt to say nothing about his son being missing. Maybe he tells him Alexander is on the run; maybe he tells him the truth about Alexander being dead but throws the blame on someone else. He convinces the old man to keep quiet for the sake of the family name and give Derek a chance to cover things up.
‘Then Derek has to get rid of the director and the nurse, presumably because they know what he’s done and he doesn’t have the cash to pay them off – the money they’ve got in the past all came from Alexander Sholt. So they die next. But now …’
Dad shook his head. ‘Now old man Sholt is getting suspicious about what happened to his son and has the resources to hire someone to do something about it. You saw those windows at Derek’s house; he was trying to protect himself from someone. And if this is how it all went down, then having Derek killed with the same weapon – which Derek probably had somewhere in that house – might have been Charles Sholt’s idea of an artistic touch.’
Wow. For a complete fabrication, I thought that was really quite convincing. Allie was certainly buying it. She’d been nodding along with Dad’s words, and I could see that he was pleased with her reaction. He was testing out the story, I realised, to see if people would believe it.
Because he absolutely couldn’t tell anybody the truth.
‘It might have gone differently, of course,’ Dad said. ‘We’ll probably never know all the details. But one way or another, there’s going to be a lot to do to make sure justice is finally done for every girl Bell and Sholt hurt. If you’re not up for that, you’d better tell me now.’
Allie lifted her chin. ‘I’m up for it.’
I was relieved to hear that her voice had expanded back to its normal size. In fact, all of her seemed to be expanding. She was still reeling from this, and would be for a while, but she’d be okay for as long as she had something to do. For as long as there was justice to be done. And I guessed there always would be justice to be done for somebody somewhere. So Allie would be okay.
Dad ga
ve a brisk nod. ‘Good. I’m going to start making calls. But my colleagues from the city aren’t going to be able to find their way out here from the home unescorted. Do you think you could go back there and wait for them?’
‘Of course.’ She rose to her feet, shoulders squared, and went marching through the trees like a soldier with a mission.
The wind chased after her, swirling leaves into her path and ruffling her hair. For a second Allie stopped, looking upwards to a sky that would be littered with stars come nightfall. The turmoil inside her seemed to lighten a little. Then she kept walking.
Dad stayed quiet until she’d vanished from sight. Then he asked, ‘Do you understand now, Beth?’
‘Yeah.’
But I could see from his expression that he thought I was missing something. Then he did something terrible. He looked at me with the same compassion he’d shown to Allie.
‘Beth,’ Dad said slowly, ‘Isobel Catching didn’t survive.’
That made no sense. ‘What? No – she escaped, the night of the fire—’
But he was shaking his head. ‘She died, Beth. The night of the fire, or before that.’
‘That’s impossible! She’s the witness. She’s in the hospital – how can she be dead?’
‘Do you remember what happened at the hospital, right before we met Catching?’
I did remember. I’d looked through a door into a room, and seen a dark-haired girl. Then Catching had called out to Dad and— Oh.
‘You think that other girl was the witness?’
He nodded. ‘She’s the girl who ran away from rehab. Catching came here exactly as she said, on a road trip with her mum. A few months ago, because that was when the storm hit, the big one that caused all that property damage. No one was reported as dead, but that’s not because no one died. No one was found, probably because Derek Bell covered up the accident. Catching wandered away from the wreck – wounded and disorientated, ended up near the home, and was discovered by the director and the nurse.’
‘But you can see her! You’ve been talking to her all this time.’
Catching Teller Crow Page 11