The Dark Lake

by Sarah Bailey

‘It’s decided, Woodstock. My job is to see over the mountains. Above things. And that’s what this is about. It’s good to mix things up. You and Matthews will make a good match.’ He laughs. ‘He’ll learn a ton from you.’

  I swallow furiously. ‘But McKinnon and I can finish the Ryan case?’

  ‘Yes, Woodstock.’ Jonesy turns into the hospital car park. He doesn’t move his body, only his arms. ‘Right now all I want is for you and McKinnon to finish the bloody Ryan case.’

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Friday, 1 January, 9.47 am

  George Ryan is channelling a day-time TV patriarch. Dressed in navy satin pyjamas, he is propped somewhat dramatically on a cloud of cushions. I half expect him to reveal an evil twin or a secret affair with the housecleaner. Instead, he waves us in, managing to retain his regal stature despite being horizontal.

  The décor is much nicer than Smithson Central Hospital. Large framed oil paintings hang on the far wall and light spills in through a giant window. It’s more like a hotel than a hospital room.

  George’s hands are riddled with sunspots that look dark against his pale skin. He’s thinned in the past week, his eyes sitting deep in his face.

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Ken Jones, Mr Ryan,’ Jonesy says as we enter the room.

  George leans forward and fixes his eyes on Jonesy as if confirming that this is his real name.

  ‘Hello, Mr Ryan,’ I say.

  He nods at us in turn and rolls his eyes towards the chairs.

  We sit.

  He jabs at a button on the side of the bed and a mechanism whirrs into action, lifting him up. ‘I’m dying.’

  The slow beep of the machine counts down the seconds of silence.

  ‘Your cancer,’ I venture, wanting to say something.

  ‘Yes. Apparently I’ve got days if I’m lucky.’

  ‘I thought the operation was successful?’

  ‘Apparently not. Or it was but now something else is wrong.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Well. I had hoped to know what happened to my daughter first.’

  ‘We’re making good progress on your daughter’s case, but we are still working through several scenarios,’ Jonesy says evenly.

  George shifts uncomfortably and fixes his gaze on me.

  ‘Mr Ryan, you wanted to tell us something?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. I did.’ He sighs heavily. ‘My daughter, Rose, she wasn’t like other people. I know every parent thinks their child is special, but I really think she was unique.’

  I try to block out the fact that Rose probably wasn’t his biological daughter and just listen.

  ‘We had a good relationship, but I did feel differently about her than my sons. Maybe because she was a girl or maybe it was her personality. I’m afraid she took after my wife, Olivia. She could be quite manipulative. It was hard to connect with her sometimes, especially when she was a teenager.’

  ‘I think that’s very common.’

  George looks at Jonesy. ‘Yes, I know. But Rose was different. It was like she had a fire burning inside her. I can’t really explain it. There was always some kind of trouble. That boyfriend from school, some issue with a teacher at university, then that business with the student at the school she taught at in Sydney. And even with her brothers, there was always lying and … odd behaviour. Inappropriate things. She wanted their attention and I wasn’t comfortable with it. I bought her that place because I thought it was best that she lived away from them—especially the two younger ones, who were still at home. And then she ended up changing her mind and leaving Smithson almost straight after school anyway.’

  He laughs, as if dismissing the strangeness of the world, and shifts in his bed before giving up on finding a new position. The veins on his temples pulse softly. ‘Anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘How did your sons feel about Rosalind?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they didn’t really stay in touch with her after she left. Only Marcus did. He was always very good, calling Rose and making sure we saw her at Christmas. I kept in touch with her as well, but it was hard.’

  ‘Mr Ryan, you said that the last time you saw your daughter was at your birthday in October. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it unusual for the family to be together like that? Sounds like Rosalind didn’t go out of her way to see her brothers.’

  ‘It was quite unusual. I knew it would be a tense night, but I’d asked them all to come because of my health. I figured it was likely to be my last birthday. I spoke to them about my finances and my plans. I think they were surprised at how much was going to be left to charity. And then Timothy made a big point of Rosalind not being entitled to as much of my estate because I’d already purchased the cottage for her. Of course, he didn’t acknowledge that I’d also paid for him to go overseas and contributed to various things for him and his brothers. He was not in the mood to listen. I made it clear that I wasn’t happy with his attitude.’

  ‘Did he threaten her?’ Jonesy asks.

  ‘Not physically, but he was very angry. Calling her names and accusing her of manipulating everyone. Marcus and I calmed him down. I knew he had a temper but I’d not really seen that side of him before. That’s why I was so surprised when he told me he went to see her play, but he said he did it to make amends.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’ I ask.

  ‘I did. But then …’ He shifts his weight again and winces. ‘Well, the boys all came in to see me last night to wish me a happy new year. Amelia, Bryce’s girlfriend, came too. We had some food here in the room and then I dozed off. I’ve been sleeping a lot since I’ve been in here, from the drugs. I woke up at about eight-thirty. The door to my room was open but the lights were off. At first I thought I was alone, but then I realised that Timothy was still here with Amelia. They were standing near the door, talking. I don’t know where Bryce was. They didn’t notice I’d woken up and they were talking about the police interviews. Timothy said something about it all being fine. He told Amelia that she didn’t need to worry. I kept my eyes closed so they would think I was still asleep, but then there was no sound so I presumed they’d gone. When I opened my eyes they were kissing.’

  Chapter Seventy

  then

  My hands were clammy and it didn’t seem to matter how many times I wiped them. After I left Jacob’s I rode around for a while, steering my bike in giant loops along the old dirt track in the reserve at the back of my house. The sun was only just stirring and I wondered over and over whether he’d read the note yet.

  I couldn’t sit still so I headed to Ronson Shopping Centre and watched some kids skateboard through the outdoor food court. Pigeons looked on indignantly from the roof. I’d arranged to meet Fox here later. He wanted to go to the movies and I figured it would be better to do something to take my mind off Jacob. Plus, going to the movies was good, not quite an alibi but a normal teenage thing to do. It wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.

  The Ryan phone number was on a piece of notebook paper in my pocket. I told myself I’d make the call at 8.30 am. I doubted that Jacob would go to her house earlier than that on a weekend. I didn’t know exactly how these things worked; I only remembered that when there was a bomb threat at the school we were all evacuated. I figured that the Ryans would be taken out of their house and wouldn’t be able to see anyone for the rest of the day. Maybe longer. I thought that George Ryan might even suspect that Jacob had something to do with it and forbid Rosalind from seeing him. That was if Jacob even wanted to see her after reading the letter.

  I wandered into the shopping centre and bought a muffin from the bakery. I ate less than a quarter of it before I threw it in the bin.

  It was almost time.

  I headed to the payphone that was tucked behind the walkway, out of sight.

  I picked up the phone, dropped the coins in the slot and dialled the number.

  ‘Hello,’ a man’s deep voice a
nswered, and my knees almost gave way, but I made a fist in front of my mouth and said in the deepest, grainiest voice I could summon, ‘There’s a bomb. In your house. You need to get out now.’

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Friday, 1 January, 1.02 pm

  I haul a hungover Timothy Ryan in for questioning and do laps around him in the interview room. I have no idea whether what George Ryan told us is relevant or not, but I saw the fear in his eyes, sparked by the possibility that Timothy had crossed the darkest of lines, and his gut feeling was enough to make me give it another shot with his son.

  ‘Timothy, you know this is a murder investigation.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good. I was just reminding you that this is about as serious as it gets. Money can’t buy anyone out of murder. And you are already on our radar. Violent tendencies, anger issues. It doesn’t look very good, does it?’

  He eyes me petulantly.

  ‘Right? Okay. So. Tell me about your relationship with Amelia Posen.’

  He sits back, the air puffing out of him. ‘Amelia is my brother’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know that.’ My voice drips with sarcasm.

  ‘Well, that’s it really.’

  ‘Try again,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

  ‘I want you to tell me where you were on the evening of Friday, 11 December.’

  ‘At the school play. I told you.’

  ‘Try again.’

  He looks at me, his chin raised, and then reaches out to pick up the glass of water I placed in front of him. His Adam’s apple bobs maddeningly as he drinks every last drop before saying, ‘I was with Amelia.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At her parents’ house. She called me and said she wanted to see me. I told her I had tickets to the play. I hate all that live performance shit but I felt bad for being a dick to Rose at Dad’s birthday and wanted to make it up to her. I’d gone right off at her, but it wasn’t really her fault. Dad always spoiled her. He pretends to be such a hard-arse but really he’s a pushover, especially when it comes to her. Drives me mad. Anyway, I knew that Amelia had plans with Bryce so I was going to go along and find someone to come with me, but then Amelia said she would fake a migraine to get out of seeing Bryce. That if I came over she’d make it worth my while. So I ditched the play and did that instead.’

  ‘How often do you see her?’

  ‘Depends. She’s in town a fair bit. Alone, mostly. And it’s easier now I’m officially single.’

  ‘Nice.’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Why did you lie about it?’

  ‘I couldn’t say where I’d really been—Bryce would have flipped. Though he’s ended up sus anyway. And I had bought the tickets to the play already. I figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘You were fighting about Amelia the other morning?’

  ‘Yep,’ Timothy says chirpily. ‘He reckons he could tell something was going on.’

  ‘The best thing to do would have been to tell the truth.’

  ‘Well, Amelia has some decisions to make,’ he replies. ‘It’s not my truth to tell.’

  His smug expression irks me though I’m hardly in a position to judge.

  ‘Yeah. I guess you’re just an innocent bystander in all this.’

  ‘Look, it’s not ideal, I know that. But their relationship is bullshit, I swear.’ He has the decency to look guilty.

  ‘Alright, alright.’ I make it clear that I’m not interested in debating his morals. ‘Can anyone apart from Amelia vouch for your latest alibi?’

  He thinks for a moment. ‘I didn’t see anyone else but she ordered a fair bit of takeaway at about nine. Amelia went to the door though. And I paid for some, ah, digital entertainment a bit later. You should be able to see it on my corporate credit card.’

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Friday, 1 January, 9.04 pm

  The house is silent and I immediately feel uneasy. Ever since Ben was taken I find myself uncharacteristically gravitating towards the chatter of people and the hum of machinery. Silence equals danger.

  I walk into the spotless kitchen. Ben’s toys are stacked neatly in the corner. Our bedroom is clean too, and the globe above my dresser that blew in October is finally fixed. I race into Ben’s room and find him sleeping soundly, his lips making a soft whistling sound. I find Scott on the back patio, sitting on the end of the sun lounge drinking a beer and looking out past the back fence.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. The night air feels harsh between us, and a haze of self-consciousness wraps around me as if we have an audience. I will say the wrong thing: I already know this.

  ‘Hey.’ It’s as if he should be smoking. His simmering anger would suit the tangibility of a cigarette. ‘You’re late again,’ he says flatly.

  ‘Scott, I’m working a murder investigation.’

  ‘Yes. I know. Annoying that people keep dying, huh?’

  ‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think I like this? Think I like trawling through photos of dead abused people? That I like mixing with the darkest form of human life?’

  Scott laughs, an unfamiliar nastiness in the sound. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I think.’

  ‘Well.’ I stare past the fence too, wishing I could walk out the back gate and run. Keep running. Running until I have scratches all over my body and my chest explodes. Running past the point of being able to run any further.

  ‘Well what? You know I’m right, Gemma. And you know what? I’m done.’

  He buries his face in his hands. It’s comical, a big teddy bear of a man with his head in his big hands, except that it’s not funny because he’s the father of my little boy and I don’t know what this means for our future.

  ‘What do you mean, done?’

  ‘I’m done with this. With us. It’s not good. You and me. It’s broken and I let you break it.’

  I feel oddly vacant but find myself saying, ‘Scott, come on. You can’t just dump this on me. This Ryan case, it’s made me a bit crazy, I get that, but it will be over soon. One way or another. Maybe we can go away or something. Take Ben?’

  He looks at me then and it’s as if he’s trying to see past me. I almost look behind me to see if there is someone there.

  ‘Gemma, you just don’t even see it, do you? You don’t see it. There’s always something. You’re never different. And it fucking sucks because I love you. But you don’t see that either. You’re busy trying to find what you need anywhere but here. Don’t you think I know that?’ He hunches over as if he’s about to cry but he’s empty. I’ve made him empty.

  ‘I love Ben,’ I say, because it is the only true thing I know.

  ‘Yes.’ He looks at me and only the two of us can know the feeling of loving that little boy. ‘I know you love Ben. It’s the best thing about you. I have to remind myself that you can love and Ben is the proof of that. But it’s not enough, Gemma. It’s not enough for me.’ He rolls the beer bottle between his hands. ‘I want more children. Maybe lots more. I want someone who wants to be with me. Someone who makes time for me. I want that person to be you.’ His eyes burn into mine and I lean back against the house. ‘But it can’t be you, can it?’

  I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Breathe. Think.

  Warm air washes over us. The hoot of an owl. Bugs smacking against the outside light. ‘I don’t know,’ I say finally.

  ‘Yeah.’ Scott kicks the deck as he stands up. ‘Well, the thing is, Gem, that just isn’t good enough for me anymore.’

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Saturday, 2 January, 9.17 am

  Everything is on hold. When I look around the station, things pause for a moment before abruptly jerking back to life. I barely slept last night, tossing and turning for hours, until in the end I took myself into the lounge room and shuffled through Rosalind’s case files again, as if they were cards in a deck. I feel inexplicably anxious about seeing Rosalind’s play tonight. I
’m almost convinced that she will deliver me a message from beyond the grave. Wired, I push my hair behind my ears and return to my pile of paperwork, trying to focus. The thought of waking up tomorrow and the answers still being on the loose is maddening.

  Jonesy has briefed Matthews and me on our first job together, a cold case that has a fresh lead. Matthews and I are polite, careful, and I get the feeling that he will do his best to make this thing work between us. However, the gaping hole that was Felix is so big that I’m constantly worried I’m going to slip into it and won’t be able to climb out.

  At our late, informal check-in, Felix tells our dwindling group about confronting Nicholson regarding his relationship with Izzy. ‘He admitted he’s seeing her, said it was a recent thing. Said he would have told us but that he didn’t think she wanted anyone to know yet. He added that it’s too new to be a big deal.’

  Felix says Nicholson claimed to have no knowledge about Izzy’s reported sighting of Rosalind and Rodney at the school, and said that if it were true it would concern him greatly. He’d told her nothing about his suspected paternity.

  ‘So this thing between them is legitimate? They seem a pretty unlikely pair, don’t they?’ Jonesy can’t seem to fathom how a ‘looker’ like Izzy would be attracted to Nicholson. Possibly he simply wants to know his secret.

  ‘I think I’ve caused some trouble in paradise, but I believe they are genuinely a budding couple.’ Felix laughs and I keep my eyes on my hands. ‘I think the only reason Izzy didn’t mention what she thought she saw to Nicholson is that she didn’t want to upset him. Plus, she wasn’t certain it was Rodney. She probably figures that Nicholson would have been obliged to follow it up and she knows how fond he was of Rosalind. She just doesn’t know why.’

  ‘Well, it was a great lead anyway, Woodstock,’ says Jonesy generously. ‘I really thought we might be on to something with those two. I’d still keep an eye on her,’ he says to Felix, ‘seeing as she’s the only one who ties Ms Ryan and the boy together. What else?’