The Dark Lake

by Sarah Bailey

  The young reporter who had been shushed earlier speaks first. ‘Mr Jones, should people living in Smithson be scared? I mean, there’s a killer on the loose, right?’

  Jonesy looks at the reporter as if he’d like to immediately prove her correct.

  ‘Nothing so far suggests that anyone need be fearful of something else like this happening. We advise everyone to simply take normal precautions. Don’t walk alone at night, tell people where you’re going—things like that.’ He waves flies away and shields his eyes as he looks out at the gathered media. ‘Yes?’

  A young bearded man speaks up. ‘Mr Jones, Dan Robuck from the Gowran Tribune. From what you are saying, it sounds like the police don’t think the attack on Ms Ryan was a random crime.’

  ‘At this stage we do not believe it was random. We are investigating several individuals in relation to the attack, confirming their whereabouts and matching this with the CCTV footage we have secured and crime scene evidence.’

  This is somewhat of a stretch based on the pathetic amount of information we have, but it causes a ripple through the audience, and they start jotting down notes and whispering to each other, no doubt mentally penning headlines that implicate the Ryan family or assume a sordid love triangle.

  It is certainly a livelier press conference than most of the ones we conduct, even attracting journalists from the metro networks. Rosalind’s murder is any aspiring reporter’s wet dream, and none of them want to miss the opportunity to splash another head shot of her across the front page, even if the new information revealed is as weak as milky tea.

  Candy stands up and her cameraman whirls around to catch her asking her question before spinning back to Jonesy for his answer.

  ‘Mr Jones, Candy Fyfe from Country TV and the Smithson Times.’ She smiles, faking self-consciousness at her ubiquity. ‘Many people are speculating Ms Ryan was involved in several questionable relationships that may have led to her murder. Do you have a comment on that?’

  ‘All I would say to that, Ms Fyfe, is that my team is focused on finding the killer rather than scrutinising Ms Ryan’s lifestyle. No one deserves to be attacked like she was. Full stop.’

  Jonesy’s comment has all but confirmed the suggestion that Rosalind had a juicy personal life. I shudder to think of the outrageous rumours circulating around Smithson, whispered in shops and debated at dinner tables.

  ‘I’m not suggesting she was at fault, Mr Jones, but surely you are looking into Ms Ryan’s personal affairs?’

  ‘Ms Fyfe, I can assure you that we are conducting this investigation exactly as you would expect. We’re looking into everything. But we are leaving our judgment out of it. I’d encourage you all to do the same.’

  ‘Of course.’ Candy remains standing and her cameraman whips back and forth as if he is covering a tennis match. ‘One final question if I may. Do you feel comfortable with Detective Gemma Woodstock leading the case, seeing as she knew the victim so well?’

  Surprised, I feel my face flush as all eyes turn to me. Felix mutters something under his breath. Jonesy turns and gives me a reassuring wink, his jaw clenching.

  ‘Detective Woodstock is one of our most capable officers. Like many people who grew up around here, she has personal connections that are sometimes going to cross over into her work but she’s a professional. We all are.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Candy sits down, a slow smile spreading across her face as she leans forward to make more notes.

  Another reporter rises and questions Jonesy on the Smithson Regional Centre solve rate in comparison to the city statistics. Jonesy rattles off a bunch of numbers and talks about challenging political times and the need for additional funding.

  Cynthia points at her watch, indicating that it’s time to wrap things up.

  ‘Right, we’re done,’ barks Jonesy obediently. ‘What would help us would be getting your readers, watchers, tweeters, whatever, to think about anything they have seen recently that seems unusual. A conversation with someone that isn’t quite right. Something they may have stumbled across that, in light of Ms Ryan’s death, might be worth talking to us about.’

  Jonesy’s voice lifts a little as he gears up for his finale. ‘We must remember that a woman is dead. Her life has been tragically cut short. That’s what we’re focused on and we would appreciate any support that Smithson residents and those living in surrounding areas can provide. Thank you.’

  He walks away from the lectern. Felix and I follow.

  ‘Pack of arseholes,’ Jonesy says under his breath as we step back into the station.

  In the background, a huddle of kookaburras on the powerline begin to laugh as if they have just heard the funniest joke in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Thursday, 17 December, 7.33 pm

  I’m at the pub near the train line. Anna is late and I’m almost at the bottom of my first glass of wine. I curl my hand around its stem and look down the bar. A couple of old guys throw glances my way. A young family is seated at one of the tables. Two little girls are eating chips with their sauce. I kick my legs out and hit against the wooden panelling that lines the bar. Artie, the owner, looks up at me, face ready with a scowl, and then sees it’s me causing the ruckus and smiles instead.

  ‘Another, sweetheart?’

  ‘I should wait for my friend.’

  He sips at a frothy beer. He probably thinks it’s Felix I’m waiting for. We come here sometimes. ‘Well, if you change your mind, just ding the bell.’

  ‘Will do, Artie.’

  The muscles across my neck feel like a block of cement. I flip open my notebook and read over my scrawls. If someone found my notebook, it would be hard for them to guess whether it belongs to a good guy or a bad guy, so bizarre are my ramblings.

  I map through some of the strands of information we have so far. Rosalind’s parentage: could that be the key to this whole thing? Did George Ryan somehow discover his wife’s betrayal and fly into a rage? Did he throw money at the problem and arrange to have her removed when he had the air-tight alibi of a night in hospital? Or perhaps hot-headed Timothy found out and, knowing that his father is increasingly unwell, objected to his half-sister getting an equal share of the inheritance and felt he needed to rush things along? This possibility does seem quite dramatic when his share is so substantial anyway, but people have done a lot worse for less than the $300,000 or so extra that Timothy stood to receive.

  Although his argument with Rosalind and their lack of contact since remain suspicious, we haven’t found anything to implicate Timothy. On the night of the play he made no calls, but two phone towers have him moving between them in a manner that would make a trip from the school to his father’s house plausible. His credit card wasn’t used that evening and the security footage that George gave us shows his car turning into the garage just before 10.55 pm. Timothy says that Bryce was in his room with the door shut when he got home but they didn’t actually see each other. Timothy says he can’t remember how he entered the school hall; says he probably just walked in the door like everyone else. But the fact that I can’t identify him on the CCTV bothers me. And why did he end up going to the play alone? I don’t buy his excuse that he forgot to ask someone to come along. Intuitively, I can’t shake the feeling that Timothy is bad news, but I need to work out whether he’s just a jerk or a dangerous killer.

  And maybe this wasn’t a family matter at all, despite what George Ryan said. Our forensic finance guys have turned up more issues with several RYAN developments around town and there are rumblings of possible court proceedings driven by a mob of angry investors. While I find it hard to believe that someone with a business grudge would do something like this to Rosalind, I suppose it’s not impossible.

  Regardless, everything I know and remember about Rosalind tells me that this is a crime of passion. Or maybe revenge.

  Without realising it, I’ve drawn a looping circle across the notebook page in the shape of Sonny Lake.

  I snap
back to the present as Anna appears in front of me.

  ‘Sorry, Gem. Crazy day at the office, you know how it is.’ Anna slides onto the stool next to me and grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. I had a wine while I was waiting.’ I gesture to my empty glass.

  ‘Damn right you did. Can’t sit in this awful place without a drink.’ Anna looks around. ‘Hey!’ she calls out. ‘Hello?’

  ‘There’s a bell, I think …’

  Ding, ding, ding. Anna taps on the bell like it’s a hammer.

  Artie stumbles out from the back room as if he’s been woken up in the middle of the night. He blinks at Anna and then looks at me. ‘Ah. Your girlfriend turned up. More wine?’

  ‘You got it, buddy. Bring us wine!’ Anna pulls her hair from its tie and fluffs it around her face. ‘Cripes, what a day.’

  Anna is not conventionally pretty but has an elfin quality about her that I’m sure makes men think she’ll be a lot more passive than she is. She is small, with delicate fingers and petite feet, but her movements are big and she is loud, consistently two volume measures higher than everyone else.

  Artie delivers our wine, and for a moment, Anna and I could be any two young women out for a nice drink on a Thursday night. Not two young women who have been exposed to the worst of humanity, who have dug past the horror to find the even more horrifying. I once asked Anna how she sleeps, and she laughed and said, ‘Like the dead, with one eye open.’

  A buzzer goes off and we both jump to find our respective devices. Anna tugs at her lips with her teeth as she calls in to get her message, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Car accident near Ford. I might have to head there later but Jonesy thinks the team in Paxton will get it.’ She swallows a large mouthful of wine. ‘Can’t get wasted though, just in case.’

  ‘I have to be home early-ish anyway. I’ll be up with Ben before six.’

  ‘I always forget you have a kid, Gem. It’s such a spin-out.’

  I laugh. ‘It is weird.’

  ‘So this Ryan case is big. Like the Robbie thing.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘It’s good that Jonesy put you guys on it. You and Felix make a good team.’

  There’s a lift in her statement, maybe a question, but I let it pass.

  ‘Did you track down the kid from her old school?’ Anna asks. ‘The one you told me about?’

  ‘Sort of. He’s in India, travelling and teaching, but we got his email address from his mother. He wrote back to us but it’s tricky. He’s clearly not keen to revisit the whole thing. He does maintain that she encouraged him but there’s no evidence. Possibly it was all wishful thinking on his part. I think that’s going to be as good as we get. Should we order some chips?’

  ‘Definitely.’ She dings the bell again. ‘I heard the press conference was rough today.’

  ‘It was. Jonesy did a good job though.’

  ‘Candy Cane went for the jugular?’

  ‘She always does,’ I say.

  My mouth contracts in pleasure from the salty chips and we munch together contentedly. It feels strange to be out with someone other than Felix. With a jolt, I realise he’s become my only real friend.

  ‘You know how I asked you about the eye colour genes the other day?’

  Her eyes light up. ‘Yeah. You think someone else was the Ryan girl’s dad?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘This case is a tricky one, isn’t it?’ says Anna.

  ‘Well, she always was a bit of a mystery. Really hard to figure out.’

  Anna looks at me and an almost imperceptible expression flashes across her face. ‘I thought you didn’t know her very well, Gem?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t really,’ I say lightly. ‘I barely had anything to do with her. But she was always kind of interesting.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you just have to take one look at her to guess that.’ Anna tosses her hair over her shoulder and keeps her eyes on me. ‘Anyway, as long as you’re okay to work on it.’

  ‘Of course. Even if I knew her well, I’ve learned how to shut off. You know, never let the personal get in the way.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Anna, throwing back the last of her wine. ‘It sucks. Our job seems to make sure that nothing personal gets in the way. Or in my bed.’ She leans close to me and grins. ‘Wanna hear about the latest Prince Charming?’

  I relax. I don’t want to talk about Rosalind Ryan anymore. ‘Definitely.’

  I laugh at Anna’s dating stories, which are ripped straight from cheesy American cable, feeling a happy buzz.

  ‘Did you really catch him going through your wallet?’

  ‘Yes! Gem, I swear. The guys I meet online make the ones at the station seem like gentlemen. Even I think it’s funny.’

  ‘You’ll be disappointed when you meet a normal guy.’

  ‘Probably.’ She says it so glumly, sticking out her bottom lip, that I can’t help giggling. ‘You’re lucky all that’s behind you, Gem,’ she continues. ‘Safely married. Knowing what you’re going home to every night.’

  ‘I’m not married.’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’ She waves my de facto arrangement away. ‘You’re as good as married.’

  ‘Yeah. I guess.’

  Anna senses dangerous territory and drops the volume. ‘Gemma? Sorry. I was being flippant. Ignore me! I don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  My armpits dampen. A flutter in my abdomen. ‘It’s fine. It’s just, I don’t know. Things are hard at the moment.’

  Anna looks at me, concerned. She reaches out a hand and I let her slide her fingers around mine. ‘With the case?’

  I want to tell her about Felix. Say it out loud and see if I can get it to make sense, but I don’t know which words to use or how to explain it. ‘I had a miscarriage,’ I say instead.

  ‘Oh, Gemma.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Anna asks.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  I twist in my seat, wishing this conversation was over. ‘Um, nothing really. Just that it was one of those things.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  I look at her steadily. ‘A few weeks ago.’

  ‘Okay. Wow. But you’re all fine? No fever? Pain?’

  ‘Honestly, Anna, I’m fine. I was only a few weeks along. I didn’t need to go to hospital or anything.’

  ‘Okay. If you’re sure.’

  We sit for a minute in silence. I regret bringing this up but it feels good to have made the pregnancy real. Good for it not to have existed completely in my mind.

  ‘Was it planned?’

  ‘Not really.’ I let my mind briefly wander to the daydream I’ve kept at bay for the past few days. I picture myself holding a brand-new baby. Handing the child to a speechless Felix. Him wrapping his arm around me as he kisses first me and then the child, breathing it in. I shake the image away, my cheekbones pulsing. ‘No. Not planned. Maybe that’s what is making it confusing. I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do.’

  ‘How does Scott feel about it?’

  It feels like my organs are expanding inside my body. ‘Oh, you know,’ I say. ‘Not much he can do, I guess.’

  ‘It’s tough being with a cop. You’re so strong, Gem, he probably thinks you don’t need him.’

  ‘Maybe, I guess.’

  ‘Seriously! You should see the guys’ faces when I’m on a date and I tell them what I do. Massive buzzkill. Scott must be pretty cool, looking after Ben and putting up with the Smithson police force.’

  I flash a smile at Anna and tip my head in what might be a nod.

  Anna eyes me and then eats a couple of chips in quick succession. ‘Well. Life, huh? I mean I’d hate to lose you from the team, but of course it makes sense that you might have another baby someday. It’s perfectly normal. But we lose an awesome detective and get stuck with a bunch of fat guys who can have as many b
abies as they like without giving up anything! Fucking biology.’

  I can’t help laughing. ‘It does seem ironic that most of the guys in the force are carrying more extra weight than a pregnant woman.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry about what happened, Gem. Really sorry. Planned or not, it’s a big thing. It’s rough on top of everything else you’re dealing with.’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. Thanks. It will all turn out okay, though, I’m sure.’ My admission suddenly feels awkward. I wish I could tuck it back into my handbag.

  We talk a little about Anna’s upcoming holiday to New Zealand, the food that keeps going missing from the staff fridge, how under-resourced we are, but our easy flow has been broken.

  ‘Well, should we get the bill?’ I say, before Anna has to.

  It’s almost eleven but I don’t want to go home. Anna hugs me briefly but fiercely before she slips into her bright red Fiat and drives off. I exit the car park and head towards Main Street. The sleeping shops give nothing away while streetlamps cast sloppy puddles on the paths. Brush-tailed possums shriek from the rooftops. I pause the car in the middle of a U-turn and look up the stretch of empty road, watching stray leaves skitter low to the ground, the possums still carrying on. But there’s nowhere else to go, so I put my foot down and head for home, catching a glimpse of the old shot tower peeking out from above the trees as I drive past the lake.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Friday, 18 December, 7.37 am

  Reggie Hope swipes at her brow with a tea towel as she pours the frothed milk carefully into a glass, making sure to flick her wrist up right at the end to create a perfect leaf shape. That is one fine coffee, she thinks as she weaves around the tables to present it to the shy man sitting in the window seat.

  The café is bustling and noisy this morning despite the heat. Luckily, coffee is popular all year round. ‘Caffeine is one of the most socially acceptable addictions of our time,’ her son is fond of telling her. Jackson is always saying interesting things like that now that he is at university in the city. Reggie rinses out the silver jug and pours in some fresh milk as she pictures his face. He has grown into such a man now with his neat beard and fancy shirts. He was even wearing a pink one the last time she saw him! Wendy, one of the casuals, assured her this was all the rage these days. Reggie can hardly link this tall dark stranger to the little boy in the Batman pyjamas who used to cry out for her in the night. She shakes her head. Time is indeed a strange thing.