The Twisted Knot

by J. M. Peace

  ‘I haven’t heard from Barry. At all.’

  ‘I haven’t heard from him either,’ Gavin said.

  ‘If he just rang me and said he needed a week or something that would be fine. Family emergency and that. I’m not going to sack him because he’s missed a few days because his brother’s dead. We’d cover him.’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve always been good like that.’ Gavin nodded, still unsure where this was leading.

  ‘But I’ve heard nothing. Nothing from him. Nothing from Belinda. It’s been nearly a week now. He’s a good worker. And a good bloke. But how long can I wait?’

  Stan shrugged his shoulders at Gavin. ‘So what do you know about it? Are the coppers looking for him? Was he involved with Peter’s death?’

  Gavin felt his tension rush away. He’d only been summoned to the boss’s office because Stan thought he’d have the inside story. He’d have to disappoint him this time.

  ‘Sorry, mate. I don’t know anything more than you. Everyone’s talking about it but no one seems to know anything.’

  ‘C’mon, Gavin. I’m trying to help Barry out here. I can’t hold his job open indefinitely. Are the coppers expecting him back?’

  Gavin looked Stan in the eye. ‘Honestly, I don’t know anything more. The topic is pretty much not open to discussion at our house at the moment.’

  Stan held his hands out, palms upwards, as if he still didn’t believe that Gavin had no information for him. ‘Okay then. If I haven’t heard from Barry by Monday, I’m going to have to advertise his spot.’ He paused. ‘It’s a shame. I’d say his life’s hard enough at the moment without losing his job.’

  Gavin nodded, unsure of what to say. ‘If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,’ he offered.

  ‘All clear,’ Stan said, as if he didn’t believe him. He looked away, pulling some papers out of a tray on his desk. Clearly the conversation was over.

  Gavin let himself out, his lip curled with annoyance.

  He wouldn’t miss this sort of shit when he got accepted into the academy. He’s one of the crew. He’d be on the inside.

  39

  Mel popped her head around the door of the meal room, where Sammi was toasting her chutney, chicken and cheese sandwich in the press. The roster had not yet been updated to reflect her return to operational shifts so she was on the counter again today.

  ‘Now, there’s no real hurry . . .’ she started and Sammi groaned.

  ‘I hope it can wait till after my sandwich. Can you smell it?’

  Mel frowned. ‘Not sure if this one is going to help things or make them worse. It’s a mother with a young girl. They want to talk with a female officer.’

  Sammi stared at her. ‘Another victim?’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

  Sammi switched off the sandwich press and headed straight to the front counter, ignoring the smell of grilled cheese as it wafted down the hallway behind her. Even though going out with Bob the other morning had felt just like old times, she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure she was ready to leave the safety of the counter just yet.

  The two people waiting at the front counter hardly looked as if they could be related. The mother was pale and thin, almost sickly looking, whereas the daughter was a solid chunk of a girl, with frizzy blonde hair. She looked up at Sammi as she came to the front. Although she was duly solemn about being at the police station with her mum, her expression was one of curiosity, her eyes animated. Sammi immediately suspected she was not a victim.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sammi. Won’t you come through,’ she said, ushering them through the door and into the interview room.

  ‘How can I help you?’ she asked, taking a seat.

  ‘My name is Sylvia Tetanovich and this is Mikayla,’ the mother said, gesturing towards the little girl. ‘Mikayla is friends with Nicola Woodford.’

  ‘BFFs,’ the girl clarified.

  ‘Mikayla came home a couple of days ago saying she was worried about Nicola. She said she had told her . . . Mikayla, why don’t you tell the officer what Nicola told you?’

  Mikayla’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to be part of this important grown-up conversation.

  ‘Nicola told me her uncle hurts her when she goes to his farm. She said he pulls his pants down and his private parts look like a big zucchini. But not as green. And then he pulls her pants down and hurts her.’ The little girl clearly had no idea what she was describing and was simply excited to be the centre of attention.

  ‘That doesn’t sound very nice,’ Sammi exclaimed, to encourage the child.

  ‘No,’ Mikayla agreed emphatically. ‘Nicola asked me if my uncle did that to me. Well, my uncle lives in Melbourne, so no. But I told her no one’s allowed to touch your privates unless it’s your mum. Or your dad.’ She paused, thinking hard. ‘Or the doctor.’ Clearly, she wanted to show she knew what she was talking about. ‘And then I said adults shouldn’t hurt kids.’ She emphasised all the pronouns when she spoke, certain that she had given the right advice to her friend.

  Sylvia nodded. ‘That’s exactly right, Mikayla. That was a great thing to tell Nicola. And I’m glad you told me about it, and also Constable Sammi.’ She turned to Sammi and lowered her voice a little. ‘I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I don’t want to make any trouble for them. I’ve heard the rumours around town and Nicola hasn’t been at school since Monday. No one’s answering the home phone and Belinda’s mobile is turned off. Is everything okay? Please tell me it’s not what it sounds like.’ There was a note of pleading in her voice. No mother liked to think that this sort of thing happened to little girls in real life. Little girls they knew. Little girls like their own daughters.

  Sammi shook her head slightly. ‘There’s very little I can tell you due to privacy laws. But there is an investigation underway.’ She turned to the girl again. ‘You have been so helpful today, Mikayla. Thank you for that. Do you think you could come into the police station here some other time and talk with one of my friends?’

  The solemn face again from the little girl. She was being invited to take part in further grown-up business. She was important today. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Nicola’s my best friend. I want to help her.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Sammi said. ‘It’s also important that you don’t talk to any of your other friends about this. It was extra special best friend business between you and Nicola, and I know you’ll keep it that way.’ She then took all their contact details, letting Mikayla give her all the answers.

  ‘A detective will have to take a proper recorded statement from Mikayla,’ she said to Sylvia. ‘Someone will be in touch. Thanks for coming in.’ She led them back out to the front door.

  *

  Back in the meal room, her toasted sandwich was still warmish. She sat down and bit into it, but hardly paid any attention to the taste.

  Bob entered a few moments later. ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘That was the fresh complainant for Nicola Woodford. She’s also eight.’ Sammi took a ferocious bite of her sandwich.

  ‘Shit,’ he said.

  Sammi grimaced. ‘She’s got no idea what her friend was talking about, but she can repeat it all word for word. There’s no way she was making it up. I don’t think it occurred to her how wrong this all is. Lucky she told her mum.’

  ‘So she’ll talk to CIB?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The case is building.’

  Sammi nodded. ‘This girl was so excited about coming to the police station and having me hanging on her every word. Had no idea of the seriousness of it all. Hopefully she doesn’t start trying to impress every other adult she meets with the same story. The situation’s bad enough without throwing fuel on the fire.’

  ‘Obviously some of it has already got out. It’s hard work in a town like this, with someone like Woodford.’ Bob said.

  ‘Yeah, hard
work,’ Sammi repeated. Her mind had kicked into gear.

  40

  ‘I’ve got the search warrant for Barry’s house. Who’s coming?’ Terry asked as he marched into the day room. ‘We’re looking for any indication of where they might have gone, or why they might have gone. Also any bloodied murder weapons or signed confessions.’

  ‘So a fishing trip,’ Bob replied.

  ‘No, this is a targeted investigation into a suspicious death,’ Terry said. ‘At least that’s what I told the magistrate,’ he added, with a smile.

  Sammi looked at Bob.

  ‘I’m up for it,’ she said. She was keen to follow up on any part of this job. Although it both intrigued and repulsed her she was intent on finding out the whole story.

  ‘You’ve got a JP lined up?’ Bob asked Terry. A justice of the peace would need to accompany them through the unoccupied house to protect the rights of the absent residents. And also to protect the police if the absent residents made allegations against the officers later.

  ‘Shirley’s going to meet us there in about ten minutes,’ Terry said. ‘Coming?’

  ‘You’re going to have to be more specific to me about what we’re looking for,’ Bob said, folding his arms. ‘Bear in mind you’re talking to me about it, not the magistrate.’

  ‘Can’t get anything past you, can I, Sergeant?’ Terry said. ‘What I really want to know is whether it looks like they just left for a couple of weeks until the gossip dies down, or whether they’ve abandoned the place. If all the important stuff is gone. I’ve been asking around. No one’s heard anything from them since Monday arvo. Belinda’s phone is off. Neither of them has been in contact with the school, their workplace or friends, as best I can tell. Also, there’s a rifle registered to the address in Barry’s name. I want to know if it’s there. If it is, I’m seizing it for safekeeping till this all gets sorted.’

  Bob nodded and Terry continued. ‘I’m also looking for anything left lying around that might give us any clues. I’ve got the district officer to approve a locksmith to get into the gun safe, so he can get us through the front door too.’

  ‘Now that you’ve convinced me that you know what you’re doing,’ Bob said, ‘Sammi and I will grace your search with our presence.’

  Sammi smiled. By-the-book Bob.

  *

  ‘The thing I don’t like,’ Sammi said, as they pulled into the driveway of Belinda and Barry’s house, ‘is that this might get the neighbours talking.’

  Bob scoffed. ‘People are already talking. Pete is dead because people are talking.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’ Sammi asked.

  ‘He’s either killed himself rather than face the music, or someone’s got to him because of the accusations. His death is a direct result of the gossip in town.’

  ‘I feel sorry for Barry and Belinda. Oh, and Nicola of course. The neighbour’s curtains start twitching when we pull up at someone’s house. This is surely going to fuel the rumours,’ Sammi said.

  ‘It is not going to do any more damage than has already been done. And hardly anyone seems to know that Nicola is the victim,’ Bob replied, parking the car behind the unmarked CIB car on the driveway.

  Sammi peered at the house. ‘Looks exactly like it did when we were here the other day.’

  ‘What did you expect?’ Bob asked. ‘Shotgun casings on the front lawn?’

  ‘Would have been helpful.’ Sammi gave him a half-smile.

  They joined the others at the front door.

  Terry showed all of them, including Shirley and the locksmith, that his digital recorder was running.

  It was quick work for the locksmith to get in through the front door. It was a typical push-button lock; Sammi could probably even have broken in given enough time.

  ‘All right, we need to find the gun safe first because Ben charges by the hour,’ Terry said.

  The locksmith grinned. ‘No hurry.’

  ‘Often in the garage,’ Bob suggested, ‘or built into wardrobes.’

  They fanned out around the house, looking into rooms and opening doors to get a sense of the layout. Sammi found the safe in the master bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe. It was easy to spot. Usually there would have been clothes hanging in front of it, but the clothes rail was half empty.

  The locksmith got to work. A gun safe would take a little longer to break into than the front door. Sammi lingered in the doorway to the walk-in robe behind Terry, scanning the half-empty clothes rails.

  ‘Whoever packed did it in a hurry,’ she observed. ‘It looks like someone’s pulled the hangers off the rail and packed them with the clothes still on them.’

  Terry looked up briefly from where he was peering over the locksmith’s shoulder and nodded. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Sammi remained in the doorway, still scanning the clothes. ‘You know what’s odd?’

  ‘What?’ Terry asked distractedly.

  ‘It doesn’t look like any men’s clothes are missing.’ She pointed at the top rail where shirts and jackets were neatly hanging, and the bottom rail, with gaps in amongst the blouses and hospital uniforms. Then at the shelves, one neatly arranged with stacks of T-shirts and shorts, and the other in disarray.

  This caught Terry’s attention. ‘Oh, you’re right.’

  Just then, the locksmith opened the safe with a clunk. He rose to his feet.

  ‘That’s me done,’ he said. He peered into the safe. ‘You won’t need to lock that again.’

  The safe was empty. The rifle was missing.

  ‘That’s a bad sign,’ Terry said quietly.

  Missing gun, missing clothes, missing people – this is turning into something big, Sammi thought. She headed for Nicola’s bedroom. Most of the toys seemed to still be there, but as she had noticed the other day from the window, there were obvious gaps on shelves where items should have been. It was the same with the clothes – only some remained. Either they had gone for a hurried holiday and only taken a few items, or they had taken the important things and left the rest for good.

  Whoever had packed had taken clothes for Nicola and Belinda, but nothing for Barry. And they had taken the rifle.

  Sammi went out to the kitchen and pulled on the handle of the fridge door. It was full of food, as you’d expect for a family of three leading a normal life. Milk, eggs, fruit and veggies – all the perishables were there. You wouldn’t leave them like that unless you were planning to come back after a few days. Or you didn’t care because you never intended on returning at all. But the fridge was still going, the electricity was still on.

  Sammi tried to imagine a plausible scenario to fit these facts. But everything she came up with seemed far-fetched. She found Bob at a desk in a bedroom that seemed to double as an office. He was sifting through the drawers – old shopping dockets, children’s drawings and school newsletters passing through his hands.

  ‘Found anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really. Still looking for that smoking gun Terry’s after.’

  ‘No guns at all here. The rifle’s gone,’ Sammi replied. After a pause, she asked, ‘What do you make of it?’

  Bob looked up at her, a laminated Father’s Day picture in his hands. He shrugged.

  ‘Terry’s got his work cut out here.’

  More questions, no answers.

  41

  Every night was a long night when you were waiting, Faye thought as she stared at the ceiling. Right now, she was waiting for sleep to come because it was too late to expect the phone call she was waiting on. The long dark hours in bed gave Faye time to collect her thoughts. She thought about what she wanted to ask and what she wanted to tell. She had left a message every day. Just a short message, only saying that she wanted to talk. But she wanted to do so much more than talk. Silence had stolen her life and her family.

  She had made it a rule not
to smoke in bed so four times through the night she got up. It was the same routine as always. Stare into the dark stillness at the back door while smoking. Things had changed though. A small brown figure appeared at her side, nudging her leg, as she smoked. Roxy got up whenever she did, as if she was waiting with her. It was silly to think that a dog knew what was going on, but it was a comfort to her.

  Faye would then lay back in bed, waiting to see if sleep would take her away before the next cigarette. Sometimes it did.

  When the phone rang in the morning, after breakfast, she was ready.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, trying to control the waver in her voice.

  ‘Faye, it’s me. I got your message,’ a voice answered. Although the woman didn’t say her name, Faye immediately recognised her daughter-in-law’s voice.

  She breathed out as deeply as her lungs allowed, only then realising she’d been holding her breath since answering the call. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you called, dear. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And what about our little ballerina? How is she going?’

  ‘Fine. She’s fine.’

  ‘She’s a lovely child, so sweet-natured. She’s such a credit to you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Belinda replied. There was a pause. ‘I . . . um . . . I don’t know what to tell you.’

  ‘The police came around. They told me that Peter killed himself. And I’m still waiting to hear from Barry,’ Faye said.

  ‘Okay.’

  Faye was learning more by what Belinda was not saying than from the words coming through the receiver. She pushed ahead.

  ‘I want to talk to you as one mother to another. I am one hundred percent on your side. I made my mistakes. Now you are suffering from them. I want to help Nicola. So that means helping you.’

  ‘You want to help Nicola?’ Belinda echoed.

  ‘I know what Peter’s done and it makes me sick. I want to help.’

  There was a moment’s stillness across the telephone connection. Not silence but stillness as if the line had gone dead. Then Belinda spoke again. ‘Look, you want to talk as one mother to another? Well, as a mother, I know you will always love your son. Regardless of what he’s done. I don’t want to hurt you with my anger. You don’t deserve it. You don’t need to be involved.’