Franklin grinned, happy to shift responsibility. His idea of fun wasn't poring over a Bible. He scrawled notes into the daybook, then noticed the last thing on his 'to-do' list. It made his stomach flip.
'Hoy, Harty,' he called down the short corridor.
His buddy appeared in the doorway seconds later. 'Yo?'
'Let's take a ride out to Abergeldie to check on Susan Pentecoste.'
'Uh-huh. Following up your girlfriend's report, are we?'
Franklin hurled his akubra style police hat.
Harty ducked. 'That's a bit disrespectful, isn't it?' He retrieved the hat and brushed it off.
'They're the stupidest things they've brought out,' Franklin replied, as they jostled down the hallway.
'Just as well they've issued us with caps then. Gotta keep grumpy old farts like you happy.' Harty didn't have a chance to dodge Franklin's backhander to the gut.
Lunny entered the station. 'I could have you on report for that,' he said with mock severity.
'Nice get-up, boss.' Franklin gestured towards the navy tracksuit and white runners.
'Pretend I'm not here,' was the airy reply. 'Couple of matters to clear up…'
'Maeve's sister isn't down again, by chance?' Harty asked.
Lunny's blush confirmed his least favourite sister-in-law was in residence at the station house next door. Luckily, her visits were as brief as they were frequent.
'Hmm. Are we still on for fishing tomorrow, John?'
The sarge's voice held a note of panic. Tempted to stir him by saying he'd swapped his rest day with one of the other blokes, Franklin took pity and nodded.
'I'm driving,' he told Harty, snagging the keys from the board.
'Dam's full,' Harty commented as they pulled up the farm's driveway.
'It's strange to have so much rain and see everything green in autumn, isn't it?'
'Yeah but good strange.'
Franklin nodded at the distinction. 'Easter's only a couple of weeks away, yes?'
His mate agreed.
'It's funny, isn't it, that we've got so used to drought and Easters where the fire season's still in force that we've forgotten other years where it rained all long-weekend and was cold enough to freeze your balls off. It's still bloody hot now, though.'
Mick and Roger waved as they drove past. The farmers wore sweat-soaked khaki overalls over bare torsos as they strained fencing wire on the top paddock.
The cops slipped through the white picket fence up at the house and sighed. The shade of the cypress windbreak gave welcome relief.
'These look a bit sick.' On the verandah, Harty crumbled dry soil from a pot plant between his fingers. He touched a rose leaf which crackled before falling off. 'They need a drink.'
'You're not wrong,' Franklin said. It was uncharacteristic of green-thumbed Susan Pentecoste to neglect her plants. Even after Roly's disappearance, she'd overseen the care of all plants on Abergeldie's house block, along with the stock and crops, until she recovered enough to personally tend them. He remembered calling here with his former sergeant, Bill Noonan, after her release from hospital. They'd found her with watering can in hand, fussing over foliage not half as withered as these rose bushes. Surely she'd have arranged for someone to water the plants if she'd planned this holiday? Perhaps she'd left in haste or never expected to stay away so long.
The two men matched strides to the kitchen door and entered, calling, 'Susan?'
No response.
Harty gestured with a head twitch and Franklin nodded; words were unnecessary. They did a swift inspection.
In the study, Harty said, 'Who's been a bit creative here?'
He threw a notepad from the desk to Franklin, who examined the doodles. There were spirals and three-dimensional cubes and grim faces. Among the artwork were random words - several in block letters, others in a thready, rightward-slanted script but all similar enough to belong to one writer.
'Susan? Niece? Roly-Susan link. JACK. Holiday? WHERE,' he read aloud. 'Gotta be the work of that Georgie Harvey bird, don't you think?'
His partner played devil's advocate. 'Not necessarily.'
'Bit cheeky, walking in and making herself at home.'
'What? A bit like us, you mean?'
Franklin grimaced, acknowledging Harty's point. 'Fair enough. I don't suppose she meant to leave this behind.'
'She mightn't have noticed she'd done it. I got into a bad habit at uni and doodle all the time. It's not until later that I realise what I've done.'
'I wouldn't know about that.' Franklin swatted his mate. 'Some of us are ordinary working-class coppers, not brainy upstarts.'
'Hardy, ha, ha. Hey, do you reckon that's weird?'
Harty pointed to the bookcase. Franklin noted the perfect alignment of the books on six of the seven shelves. They were in ascending order according to height, each spine plumb. The bottom shelf held the tallest volumes and replicated the order above until midway along. There, several books collapsed across a gap corresponding to a couple of absent ones.
'Notice a few big books lying around? Yea high.' He spread his hands a foot apart.
'Nothing in here,' Harty said.
'Check the bedrooms. I'll take the other rooms.'
They regrouped minutes later.
'Anything?'
'No, and I wouldn't be surprised if Harvey's taken something from Susan's bedside table. There's not much dust on the surfaces, considering the gravel road and all, but what's there's been stirred up.'
'Harvey's pissing me off,' Franklin complained.
'Hmm. It's one thing letting yourself in to have a quick look-see but filching Susan's gear is pretty rich,' his friend agreed. Then he added, 'It's always possible that Susan took the books with her.'
'I suppose,' Franklin conceded. 'Get Mick and Roger in here for a chat.'
While his partner summoned the farmers, Franklin pulled out his ringing mobile.
'Constable Franklin?'
Senior Constable but he let it go. A couple more words and he'd identify the caller with her very familiar voice.
Don't tell me.
'It's Christina van Hoeckel here.'
Damn. I was so close.
'I'm ringing about the, um, incident with my car the other day.'
'Oh?' Franklin said, intrigued.
'I want to drop it.'
He let the silence sit, then asked, 'Why's that?'
'Oh, it's just kids.' Her attempt at casual fell short. 'Their parents will sort them out. No need to get them in trouble with police.'
'Is that right? Well, it's gone too far now. Even if you were to withdraw your complaint.' It hadn't; he just wanted to gauge her reaction.
'You can't do that,' she shouted. Then added softly, 'Can you?'
'I'm not sure, Christina. I'll have to get back to you.'
He called off, chuckling. Let her sweat for a few days, then he'd pop over and see if she was ready to come clean. He intended to find out why she'd lied.
Franklin was still grinning when he greeted Mick and Roger with handshakes and backslaps. Trigger trotted behind them and collapsed with a sigh onto the mat by the stove.
'We was tellin' Scott here' - Roger pointed at Harty - 'that we had a sheila nosin' about today. Didn't we, Mick?'
His son bobbed his head.
'Get her name, did you, Roger?' Franklin asked.
'Georgie somethink.'
'Harvey?'
'Yep.' The older man clicked his fingers. 'Anyhow, she had a cock-and-bull story about Mrs P. But we reckon she was really casin' the joint.'
'How's that?'
Mick puffed out his cheeks but let his dad speak.
'Well, snot like Mrs P to go away for more than a couple a days, like. But it's up to her, isnit? Snot like she's had many holid'ys, specially since Mr P went.'
'Susan told you she was going on a holiday?'
Father and son nodded.
'Where was she going?'
'Dunno.'
'S
ay when she was coming back?'
'Nup.'
'You worried about her?'
'Nup.'
'This Georgie Harvey - what do you think she was up to?'
'You know, casin' the joint. That's what they call it, isnit? Checkin' it out before they rip the place off.'
Franklin shot a glance at Harty, who raised an eyebrow and gave a slight headshake. He hadn't mentioned the possible theft.
'You'd better have a look then and see if anything's missing. Take your time.'
He rued his words as Mick and Roger took an age to check each room. Their voices became excited in the main bedroom. The officers joined them.
'Mrs P's photos are gone.'
Harty took down details and trailed his partner and the farmers into the study.
'That don't seem right,' Mick said to his father. He pointed to the bottom of the bookcase.
Roger knelt, knees groaning. He thrust away Trigger's snout and pushed up the leaning books. He considered the thickness of the gap; measured it with his thumb and fingers. With a scratch to his chin, he said, 'There's somethink missin'. Mrs P has these special books with real nice leather covers. Thick ones they are. That right, Mick?'
'Um. Ah…'
'C'mon, stop ditherin'. Think!'
'Oh, Dad.'
'By jeez, Mick.' Roger rose. 'Her books are missin'. No doubt about it. She always has 'em on the shelf there or on the desk here. Nowhere else. That sheila's stolen Mrs P's things, hasn't she?'
Harty excused himself and left the room.
Franklin held up a hand to diffuse Roger's anger.
'Leave it with us, we'll check it out. What else did you discuss with Georgie Harvey?'
'Nothin',' the father said quickly.
'Did she give you an idea where she was going after here?'
'Nope,' Mick replied.
'Mate,' Harty interrupted. 'We've got an urgent job.'
Franklin was poised to jump into the police truck when his mobile rang again. He threw the keys to his partner and answered the call while buckling into the passenger seat.
Lauren Morris sounded excited.
Hart flicked on strobe lights and siren. He negotiated the gravel driveway. Turned onto Grimwells Road and white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Franklin gritted his teeth as the four-wheel drive bumped over corrugations. He listened to Lauren.
'It depends on which version of the Bible you use. I dug up an old one and found sections in the book of Proverbs that sound a lot like Solomon.
'Chapter five, verses three to four say: "For the lips of a strange woman drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword."
'Don't you think that's similar to Solomon saying "your end will be Bitter"?'
He agreed and she continued. 'Verse five says: "Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell."
'Remember, Solomon said, "be damned to follow their whore-mother's steps down to death" in the latest letter; and "you and your bastard walk the Road of Death" in the one we got? Verse eight -'
They hit a pothole. Franklin's head bumped the side window. He cursed, righted himself and his daybook. 'Sorry. Go on, Lauren.'
'Eight says: "Remove thy way far from her, and come not nigh the door of her house."
'Very close to Solomon's "be tempted not to the door of a stranger, or tempt a stranger to your door."
'Then fifteen is: "Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of thine own well."
'That makes me think of drinking out of a toilet cistern. Yuck. But it's all sounding a bit familiar, isn't it?'
'We're not far away,' Hart interjected. Despite the blind corner ahead, they could see a plume of smoke.
'Sorry, Lauren. We're on our way to an emergency. Can you give me the rest quickly?'
'OK.' She sped up. 'Eighteen to twenty: "Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth. Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love. And why wilt thou, my son, be ravished with a strange woman, and embrace the bosom of a stranger?"
'That ties with "You must lie only with your husband" and the whole stranger reference in Solomon's letter to Cathy.'
Franklin could hear a distant wail, even above their siren, radio and Hart's occasional exclamation. An ambulance or fire truck was on its way to the collision too.
Lauren continued, 'Chapter Six of Proverbs, says: "These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him." One of those being, "To keep thee from the evil woman, from the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman."
'Pretty similar to Solomon's "the LORD hates the ways of evil people"?
'Proverbs goes on and on about adultery and prostitution but I think Solomon's twisting the words to suit his own agenda and roping in whatever he considers being contrary to a righteous or virtuous woman. I mean, all he's got against us is that we're unmarried mums - except Renee, who is married. I don't think any of us are cheating on our partners with another guy, married or not. We wouldn't have the energy, for starters.
'Anyway, I could find dozens of references in Proverbs alone that have strong links to Solomon's letters. These are just a few examples. And there's also a lot of weird capitalisation in the Bible - whole words or the first letter of words that are mid-sentence and don't need a capital.'
'It all ties together,' Franklin agreed.
He felt Hart tense.
He did likewise.
They were a few kilometres from the crash scene but an approaching clearance would give them a glimpse. The person who called in the accident had done so anonymously before fleeing, which meant they were ignorant as to the number of casualties and extent of injuries or fatalities. Merely that it was serious and 'there's blood everywhere'.
'So, basically Solomon seems to be using an oldish version of the Bible as a source for his letters,' Lauren said. 'Or his memory, I guess. He could be a priest, a parishioner or familiar with the Bible, active churchgoer or not. All we know is that he is religious, fanatical even and Christian.' Lauren's excitement diminished. 'I suppose we haven't narrowed it down at all.'
Although her research did only endorse current theories, Franklin reassured her.
Franklin viewed the destruction ahead with clenched guts.
A minivan on its side. Engulfed in flames. It had sparked a grassfire that seared a stripe through the adjacent paddock.
Nearby, a sedan with a piano accordion front-end. It must have flipped, judging by its battered bonnet and roof.
Debris skewed in every direction.
No sign of life.
Georgie's pulse quickened when the Bumblebee sang. She dug out the mobile but didn't recognise the number. No Ballarat or Daylesford prefix; probably not Margaret Pentecoste or good news on Susan.
'Hello?'
'Georgie?'
It was Michael Padley. His voice sounded strained; there was lots of background noise.
'Michael, is everything OK?'
'No. It's Ruby.'
Georgie sucked in a breath. Felt afraid to ask.
'She's…'
Please, fuck, don't let it be the worst.
'She had another turn.' He sounded a thousand miles away.
Had?
Georgie squeezed her eyes, blinking back pools. A lump jammed her throat.
Death had touched Georgie before. She'd found the body of her first cat. Bloodied and broken; killed by a careless driver. Heartbroken and naïve, she'd believed she'd never recover, nor experience worse.
'Georgie, are you there?'
She couldn't speak, now lost in the time of her grandmother's passing, expected and peaceful yet still painful.
Her memories darkened further. She was holding her dad's hand, overwhelmed when she felt a weak squeeze. She watched him try to speak, then heard the death rattle. A bittersweet moment: at last, release from
the tentacles of the brain tumour, while that final goodbye twisted her heart into a corkscrew.
'Can you come, please?' Michael's voice was tiny, bewildered, so sad.
The corkscrew skewered again. Ruby and Michael were quasi-grandparents. Neglected but brimming with unconditional love. Ruby couldn't be dead. Last week she'd been excited about a play her friends were about to open and had dyed her hair Siren Red.
Don't ask me to see Ruby's body. I'll scream - right here, on the main street of Daylesford.
'Are you there?'
'Yes,' she whispered. She verged on puking, exacerbated by a billow of black diesel fumes from a light truck as it passed.
'Can you come straight away?'
'Of course but I'm…' She stopped before naming her location, the trigger for Ruby's heart failure. 'It will take me a while.'
'Oh.' Michael sounded hurt. 'Ruby will -'
'You mean she's -'
'Back in intensive care. I'm so worried. They won't let me see her.'
Georgie nearly laughed. Intensive care meant alive. Not well but still kicking.
She sprinted for the Spider; assuring Michael she'd be there soon. But she cringed at the lie. Her return to Melbourne could take up to two hours if she clashed with commuters.
Georgie rummaged for her keys. She upended her bag on the pavement, scattered the contents. Key wedged into ignition, mobile into cradle, she shifted into reverse and noticed a flyer stuffed under her windscreen wiper.
'Damn it.'
She jumped out, pulled the flyer, dumped it on the passenger seat and gunned the engine.
Take two. She pressed a speed-dial number, reversed, almost collided with a car behind.
The call was answered and Georgie announced herself. Fuck, she went into a queue.
'Come on, come on.'
She cursed the operatic on-hold music. Tapped her steering wheel. Floored the car.
'I think Adam's finishing off his call,' his PA said cheerfully. 'Care to hold a little longer, Georgie?'
'Yes.' She ground her teeth.
'George?'
Finally. 'AJ, I might lose you. Reception's not great here.'
She filled him in on Michael's call. 'I can't get there for an hour or so.'
She hit a rut at 130 kph. The steering wheel jolted.
Tell Me Why Page 13