Before the Storm

by Morrissey, Di

  ‘Yes, someone is definitely trying to intimidate me, but I’m confused about their motives. Whatever they want, it’s obviously in their interests to unsettle me and make me think that they can get to me. As the mayor I have to expect criticism and there’s very little I can do about it,’ said Meredith.

  ‘This sounds like more than criticism,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Exactly, and I feel it’s starting to escalate,’ Meredith

  said.

  ‘Listen, Meredith, tomorrow I’m meeting someone.’ She paused, not sure she should say too much, even to Meredith. After all, the man was cautious about being seen talking to Ellie. ‘Um, it might be the person who gave Sally her info for the radio broadcast. Did you know that Sally has been heavied by her boss? My guess is he didn’t like her saying anything against the council,’ Ellie said. ‘She more or less said she’s been told not to pursue the development story anymore.’

  ‘I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. The station is privately owned, so you know what that can mean – the integrity of its objectivity and reportage depends entirely on the mindset of the owners. So it’s all too easy for freedom of the press to go out the window. It’s particularly murky in this case as that station gets council funding as a “community” resource,’ Meredith said.

  ‘Which the Chronicle doesn’t get,’ said Ellie. ‘Our funding comes from advertising, and Poppy told me once that even if businesses have the money, he won’t always let them advertise in the paper. If he thinks the business is doing the wrong thing by their workers or for the environment, for instance.’

  Meredith laughed. ‘We need more people with your grandfather’s commitment and integrity.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘So are you going to share what this person tells you?’

  ‘Meredith, you know a journalist can’t always disclose their source,’ Ellie said lightly, trying to sound more relaxed than she felt.

  ‘Of course, I just want to help. The pressure is starting to get to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Meredith.’

  ‘Keep doing what you’re doing. The town so needs Patrick and that paper. And you. You’ve revved the old boy up no end.’ She paused. ‘And how are you doing, Ellie?’

  Ellie knew the gentle enquiry referred to her meltdown and panic attack when Ronan joined her lunch with Dave.

  ‘I’m doing well, thank you. Really well. I’m feeling stronger about things. It’s been good being here.’

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

  ‘No, no plans just yet.’

  ‘Ellie, you’ve become part of the town, a local.’

  ‘I feel that way too. So I’m here for the moment.’

  ‘Good on you, Ellie. That’s the spirit,’ Meredith said warmly. ‘Well, I just hope this information proves useful for you and the paper. Keep me updated if you can.’

  ‘Thank you, Meredith. You hang in there too.’

  Over dinner, Ellie told Patrick she was meeting the mysterious source at six the next morning.

  ‘That’s early. I guess there’ll be a few early morning bods about,’ he said.

  ‘I called Cassie. Steve is going to go fishing around near where we’re meeting so he will be close enough to shout to if needed,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. Plus it’s close enough to people if you shout bloody blue murder,’ said Patrick.

  ‘I think this is someone who wants to see us, me, rather than the other way around,’ said Ellie. ‘Why do whistleblowers and people leak information, Poppy?’

  ‘Mostly it’s not to be mischievous but to set off alarm bells,’ said Patrick. ‘They wouldn’t take the risk otherwise.’

  *

  Early the next morning, Ellie drove to town along the quiet back street where Susan lived with her angry dog. As she cruised past Susan’s cottage and drove on further, Ellie glanced at a car parked beneath the overhang of one of the magnificent old Norfolk Island pines lining the street and saw a woman sitting in the driver’s seat, motionless, clutching the steering wheel and staring at Susan’s front door. It seemed odd to Ellie, especially so early in the day. She hoped the woman was okay. She looked at her from her rear-view mirror and she seemed fine, so Ellie kept going.

  Thankfully the wind had died down by the time Ellie parked her car. She walked over the causeway to the island and the lighthouse at its southern rim, facing the ocean. The lighthouse was unstaffed now, but there was a picnic table near some trees and it was a popular place for walkers and daytrippers. Steve was already there, setting out his fishing rods, preparing to wander off and fish.

  Ellie sat down and put her phone on the table alongside a notebook and pen. Her contact probably wouldn’t want to be recorded so she might need to make notes. She looked at Steve, who happened to glance around at the same time, and they exchanged a quick smile. She was so grateful he was there. This all felt very odd.

  Ellie opened her phone to check her messages and suddenly there was movement as a figure sat opposite her. She jumped and looked up.

  The man was a pleasant-looking fellow in his late forties, maybe early fifties.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Russ.’

  She shook his hand; he had a firm grip. ‘I’m Ellie.’

  ‘Thanks for meeting me.’

  ‘Thank you for wanting to help the community . . . if that is why you’re here,’ Ellie said, smiling.

  ‘Yes. I work at the council. I’m staff, a backroom boy, really. But I often deal with sensitive information.’

  ‘I think you’re being modest. First off, do you mind if I record our conversation?’

  ‘I guessed you’d ask that so I’ve given it some thought,’ Russ said. ‘Perhaps at this stage you can just take some notes.’ He reached over and tapped her notebook. ‘This information is particularly sensitive, you understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ellie, picking up her pen. ‘Okay, let’s get started. Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Same reason you’re here meeting me. There’s something happening at council that doesn’t smell right. More so than usual, I mean. Normally when things don’t run smoothly, or there’s a hiccup, or a bit of fudging over documents and figures and such, it gets tidied away, covered up or buried, without any drama in the community.’

  ‘Because no one knows?’

  ‘Correct. But this is more than fudging the budget figures or pushing through a mate’s development.’

  ‘Why, what’s happening?’

  He hesitated. ‘It’s more a matter of what’s not happening, and the results could be extremely serious for the majority of the town.’

  ‘Is this to do with the caravan park?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So there is a plan to develop the park?’ asked Ellie. ‘For what? I heard there were rumours of townhouses.’

  ‘Possibly. There’s no doubt certain people will be ready to jump in with plans and a proposal should the lease not be renewed.’

  Ellie looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. Are you able to fill me in? There’re some conflicting assumptions. The current managers of the caravan park have a lease with council, which leases the land from the O’Neills, is that right?’ asked Ellie slowly.

  When Russ nodded she went on, ‘As I understand it, the land always belonged to Boyd O’Neill so presumably his wife owns it now. He allowed her to use a section of it, which she turned into the Botanic Gardens for the use of the town. She told me they had originally planned to develop the whole parcel as public gardens but didn’t get around to doing the other section.’

  Ellie stopped talking and looked at Russ, who nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said and paused, so Ellie kept talking.

  ‘As people were discovering the area back in the fifties and sixties and camping there, Boyd was okay with that. Until council ste
pped in and wanted him to care for it, put in a few amenities. But Boyd didn’t want to be bothered with all that according to Kathryn, so he leased the caravan park site back to the council.’

  ‘Correct. You’re well informed. But that parcel on which the caravan park sits is only on a fifty-year lease. The Botanic Gardens are on a ninety-nine-year lease.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ellie. ‘Mrs O’Neill didn’t mention that. I wonder if she even knows. Though she came across as being very sharp, still fully across these matters.’

  ‘Well, that’s possible. I deal with leases and documents and development permits. I notify owners when leases are coming up for renewal and such,’ said Russ.

  ‘So how could this land be targeted for development unless the O’Neills take back ownership and undertake the development themselves, or put it up for sale? Which, from my understanding, it’s unlikely Seamus and Kathryn would allow. Ultimately, they control what happens to it, don’t they?’ said Ellie.

  ‘For the moment. But the fifty-year lease runs out very soon. If a new lease is not negotiated in time, the council will own the land. And that means the council will be able to do whatever they want with it. For the past few months I’ve been waiting to hear about the lease from Seamus O’Neill and haven’t received an answer.’

  ‘I guess you didn’t know that Mr O’Neill is away on a cruise,’ said Ellie. ‘Can’t it wait till he comes back?’

  ‘I just have a hunch that something’s not quite right. Seamus O’Neill is usually very prompt in all his dealings and correspondence with the council. It’s strange that we haven’t heard from him at all.’

  ‘Hang on, did you say you sent the first letter months ago?’ Ellie asked, thinking back.

  ‘That’s right. How long has Mr O’Neill been away?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe a few weeks, but I don’t think it’s been any longer than that.’

  Russ shook his head. ‘Well, someone must have received them.’

  ‘And when does the lease expire, exactly?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘I don’t want to provide too many details,’ Russ said, looking alarmed. ‘I can’t have anything traced back to me. I don’t want to lose my job!’

  ‘Of course,’ Ellie said soothingly, worried for a moment that she’d lost him. ‘The Chronicle always protects its sources.’

  Russ took a few deep breaths. When Ellie thought he seemed calmer, she asked, ‘So, why have you contacted me?’

  ‘I was hoping the paper might do some investigating.’

  ‘I’ll try to help,’ said Ellie. ‘Russ, I’m not sure if you want to answer this, but have you given any information to the local radio station?’

  ‘Me? No, that wasn’t me. The reason I thought I’d talk to you people is I had similar information and I reckon it’s my duty to share it.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘I can’t answer too many questions. There’s a limit to what I can say – you understand?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ellie said, then quickly moved on. ‘We know there has been a Melbourne surveyor looking around the caravan park.’

  Russ frowned. ‘They must be feeling confident.’ He stared up at the lighthouse and finally said, ‘I would hate to see the riverside and the caravan park disappear under buildings. It’s such a pretty setting. If the community knew for certain of any such plans there’d be an uproar. Which is why I’m hoping you can help.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Thank you for alerting us,’ she said.

  ‘Please keep me out of this. As you can imagine, I’d be fired immediately if anyone discovered I’d alerted you to these details.’

  Russ stood, thanked her and walked quickly away, passing the first of the early morning walkers and Steve, reeling in his catch.

  *

  Patrick was munching on a piece of toast as Ellie came into the kitchen.

  ‘How’d it go? Useful?’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Very interesting. The contact seemed genuine. But it’s raised more questions than answers, though.’ Quickly she filled Patrick in, and he scratched his head.

  ‘Hmm, all very perplexing. Surely the O’Neills wouldn’t be willing to let that land go. But if that is the case, then it’s no wonder the developer vultures are hovering. Something very odd is definitely going on in council. I can’t imagine that Seamus or Kathryn would let the lease on that land expire and the land go into council hands permanently.’

  ‘When I asked Kathryn about the rumours she dismissed them out of hand,’ said Ellie. ‘And Seamus seems to be uncontactable. What do you think, Poppy? Should we do a story on this now?’

  ‘I know it’s frustrating, Ellie, but we still don’t have anything concrete to publish. It’s all very interesting, but neither we nor the O’Neills want to have bands of lawyers coming down on us like a ton of bricks because of what could end up being just some confusion over paperwork in council.’

  ‘So we say nothing?’

  ‘That’s right. At least for the time being. Let’s keep digging and listening first.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘I promised Russ I would keep our meeting confidential.’

  ‘We’ll keep this just between ourselves and do our own investigations as well,’ Patrick said. ‘Until we come up with something definite, we can’t print a word, unfortunately.’

  It was frustrating, but Ellie could see the sense in Patrick’s words. She made herself a coffee and went into the old sewing room, now her study and workplace.

  Ellie checked the paper’s website even though she knew Maggie would too, as the lovely responses to the rescue of Peter Jensen were still coming in. But then she froze. She blinked, leaning forward as the harsh and cruel words emphasised in capitals leaped out at her. She was being attacked.

  BITCH, LIAR, CHEAT. THAT CONLAN WOMAN CAN’T BE TRUSTED. NO ONE KNOWS THE TRUTH ABOUT HER. DON’T BE CONNED. SHE THINKS SHE’S CLEVER BUT SHE’S A BITCH TRYING TO TAKE OVER.

  With tears springing to her eyes and anger almost choking her, Ellie slammed the cover of her laptop shut.

  The cruel and vile attack stunned her. Who would write such a thing, and why? And so viciously? She felt vulnerable and exposed, as if her skin had been peeled back. It was so unfair. Untrue.

  Swiftly she re-opened her laptop and deleted the painful words. How many people had seen the post? Ellie wanted to throw something. This was horrible. She wanted to run and hide. How could she walk through town? Who would even think such things about her?

  Suddenly she thought of Meredith. No wonder the tough and strong mayor had been so upset at being trolled. The trolls were such cowards. Why didn’t they call her out in person instead of hiding behind an anonymous post on social media?

  Because none of it is true, a voice answered her.

  The only person Ellie could think of who would do such a thing was Sophia, to get back at Ellie for losing her job. Thank goodness Ellie’s Melbourne friends probably wouldn’t see this. Mike, and perhaps her parents, were the only ones who checked the website regularly, and the post hadn’t been up for long.

  Ellie headed into the Chronicle office and the minute Maggie saw her she leaped up and wrapped her arms around her.

  ‘I’ve seen them, it’s awful. Take no notice,’ said Maggie comfortingly.

  Ellie stopped short. ‘What do you mean by “them”? I deleted the post. Oh no, don’t tell me . . .’

  ‘I took them down, don’t worry.’

  Jon looked over his shoulder from his desk. ‘Sorry, Ellie . . . there’s another one.’

  The belittling and nasty comments kept rolling in all day. She, Jon and Maggie took turns monitoring and deleting them.

  By the afternoon Ellie was convinced the only person who would do this was Sophia, but she had no proof and didn’t know what to do about it. Eventually, Maggie gently pushed her out the door. ‘Go home. We’ll monitor the page from now on and get rid of th
em. Whoever is doing this will get tired of it eventually.’

  *

  The sky was darkening as Ellie drove up to the house. She felt completely rattled; it was as if she’d been punctured by a barrage of arrows. And because they’d been monitoring the posts all day, she’d got hardly anything else done.

  She opened the front door and called Sam, who came bouncing down the hall, though there was no sign of her grandfather. She let Sam out and watched as he began sniffing, then raced across the garden, his nose to the ground. Ellie stepped onto the verandah and saw him snuffling and pawing at something near the fence.

  ‘Sam! Leave it!’ Ellie shouted, surprising herself at the tone of her bellow. A warning instinct had kicked in. Sam had his head down and looked as if he were trying to eat something.

  ‘Leave it,’ screamed Ellie.

  She stumbled down the steps, shoving Sam to one side as she looked at the bloody lump of meat. ‘Inside, inside now,’ she shouted, chasing the bewildered dog up the steps. As she fumbled to unlatch the door, Sam turned back down the steps and Ellie screamed at him to stop.

  Sam froze, looking back at her, confused at the loud and firm command. There was a note in her voice that he obeyed instantly. Taking him gently by the collar, she put him in the house and closed the door behind them. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag and the little shovel from beside the fireplace, then raced outside again and scooped the smelly lump of meat out of the grass and into the bag.

  She washed her hands and went back to Sam, who was lying with his nose on his paws, watching her warily. She crouched down, opening his mouth to look at his gums, and sniffed his breath. His gums were pink and there were no traces of the smell of the putrid meat.

  Shaking, Ellie sat back on her heels, stroking the dog.

  Then she rang the vet.

  9

  The drive to the vet with a subdued Sam in the back felt to Ellie like a mercy dash, though she drove steadily. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t be sure the meat had been poisoned, but after the horrendous trolling and the unlikelihood of a strange hunk of odd-smelling meat just turning up in the garden, it seemed likely Patrick, and maybe even Ellie herself, were being targeted. How could anyone do such a thing to an animal? she wondered.