The Twisted Knot (11 page)

30

It had been years since Faye had set foot in the old house. As she climbed the front steps of the Queenslander, it was as if she was stepping back in time. She paused at the door. It was open. There was no need to knock. But stepping over the threshold was significant. Acknowledging what had been ignored for so long.

She had put coming out here off for as long as she could. Every part of her wanted to avoid this place. But the thought of Peter's kelpie cowering alone in the dark prodded her into action. Roxy was a friendly dog. She shouldn't be left alone on the farm to turn wild. This small act, claiming the dog and taking her in – this was something Faye felt capable of.

She heard the clatter of toenails on the wooden floor and took a step inside to greet Roxy. The kelpie wriggled with excitement. Her whole body wagged, not only her tail. She accompanied it with a yowling whine, as if trying to speak to Faye, to tell her she'd been waiting for her. Faye tried to pat her, but the dog kept wiggling and licking, so obviously pleased to see her. It was enough to make her start crying again.

She leant her back against the door frame. This was the family home. The place where she had raised her sons and waited till her husband died. She had moved out almost immediately after his death and passed the house on to the boys. Peter had eventually taken charge. He seemed happy running the farm. Granted, he had never done much with it but he'd been content to keep things ticking over, paying the bills and filling the hours.

Peter had visited her regularly. She'd made it clear she didn't want to come out to the farm. He usually brought the dog. Roxy was a sweet little thing, but the way she tucked her tail and cowered when Peter raised his voice spoke volumes about how she was treated. They'd always had dogs on the farm – they had been working animals though and were never shown much kindness.

The little dog had settled enough to let Faye rub behind her ears. It left her fingers greasy. Roxy needed a good bath. That would be the first thing they'd do when they got home. And then find an old blanket to make her a bed.

Faye straightened up with a little groan. As she stretched out her back, she looked around the mess that Peter had called home. Her eyes fell on an old photo, in pride of place on the cabinet next to the TV. It was their family. Faye felt her scalp prickle. She stepped across the shoes and jacket on the floor and took the gilt edge frame in her hand. The boys looked so young. She guessed their ages by what they were wearing, and their haircuts. They weren't even teenagers yet, two grinning peas in a pod. They had been born almost exactly a year apart, both inheriting their father's brown eyes and dark hair. They were sitting at the bottom of the steps she had just walked up. Their father was standing, leaning against the railing, casually in charge. She was sitting higher up the stairs, too high to look as if she was part of the family group. It seemed to her now that she was observing her family rather than taking part in it. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes weren't. She wondered what it was about this photo that had made Peter keep it on display. It was so long ago.

Faye noticed she had been squeezing the frame so hard her fingers had gone numb. She didn't want to be here anymore. She carefully returned the photo to the exact place she'd found it, as if she could deny she'd ever touched it. The dog followed her closely as she went to the front door.

She stopped on the top stair, waiting until she had crossed the threshold before pulling out a smoke and lighter. From here, Faye could see the shed. Although the sun glinted off the tin roof, it was a dark place to her. As she marched down the stairs as fast as her hip allowed, she considered if she'd still remember how to use the tractor. Destroying the shed would give her a lot of satisfaction, maybe even make her feel like she'd achieved something.

She guessed why her son had killed himself and the weight of that knowledge dragged her down with him. He hadn't ever said it, but she had failed him. And if there was nothing she could do to set it right, or to at least balance it out a fraction, then she might as well join him.

31

Sammi
was
making
a
mental
list
of
the
things
they
still
needed
to
ask
Barry
as
they
pulled
into
his
driveway.
They'd
only
been
here
the
day
before,
completing
the
death
knock.

‘We
need
to
find
out
when's
the
last
time
he
spoke
with
Peter,
what
his
frame
of
mind
was
at
the
time.
Should
I
ask
about
the
pedophile
angle?'

‘Probably wait and see if Barry brings it up. He would have heard all the rumours. It might even be the topic of the last conversation he had with his brother,' Bob replied. ‘Just play it by ear. Terry can take a statement later if need be.'

Sammi nodded. ‘Terry's not showing much interest in this job at the moment.'

‘He's still trying to pretend it's a straight-out suicide. But it has to be treated as a suspicious death until it's been proven otherwise. Even if Peter was a pedophile and everyone's quite happy he's dead. If Terry thinks the coroner's going to sign off on a body and a one-word note, he's got another thing coming. I hope you listed him as the investigating officer on the Form One so it gets bounced back to him, not you,' Bob said.

Sammi nodded. She was only helping out. She did not have to make decisions on which way the investigation went. Terry would have to take over from her. The investigation would run until the coroner, not Terry, ruled it non-suspicious.

‘Looks like no one's home anyway,' Bob noted, as he switched off the ignition.

Bob hung back so Sammi would be the one to reach the front door first. She wasn't sure if he did that because it was her job and he wanted her to have to take the initiative. Or to test her and see if she was settling back into being on the road.

She pressed the doorbell but couldn't hear it ring inside the house, so she knocked loudly as well. Everything was shut up. There were no signs of life. Bob was probably right about no one being home.

‘They might be at Faye's house?' she suggested.

‘Maybe,' Bob replied, dubiously.

Sammi looked at him in surprise. ‘Surely Barry should be supporting his mum at a time like this?'

‘Peter's dead. There's nasty rumours around the town. I wouldn't blame them if they'd headed off for a week.'

‘You think they'd leave poor old mum behind?'

Bob shrugged.

Sammi turned her attention back to the door. She tried the handle. It was locked. She worked her way methodically around the outside of the house, checking each window and door as she came to it. She peered in where she could. The curtains were open, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. All the furniture was in place. Everything appeared as it had the day before – the usual trappings of family life. The little girl's bedroom, decorated in shades of pink and purple, offered a few clues. There didn't seem to be many toys on the shelves and there appeared to be gaps where items had been. The kitchen looked clean, no dirty dishes or abandoned breakfasts. The doors were locked. No signs of life, but also no signs of a rushed exit. It looked almost like everyone would be returning home after work.

‘What did I tell you? No one here,' Bob said when Sammi returned to the front. ‘The interesting part will be to see if they've packed all their clothes and valuables. It's the stuff missing from cupboards and drawers that will tell the story.'

Sammi nodded. ‘I hope they're okay.'

While they were at the house, the young neighbour over the road had decided her front garden was in urgent need of watering. She waved as soon as they came back out to the police car.

‘Hello,' she called, turning off the hose and making her way across the road. ‘Is everything all right?' She looked in her early twenties, and was wearing a stained T-shirt and shorts with the hem coming down on one side. Sammi noticed children's toys scattered around her front yard.

‘Yes,' said Sammi, offering no further information. There was a pause as the woman waited for her to continue.

‘Oh, I don't mean to be nosy,' she said eventually, ‘but I'm friendly with Belinda and Barry. They often come over for a chat. I have a little girl – she's only a toddler – and she adores Nicola.

‘Yesterday evening I saw Belinda and Nici leave with a couple of suitcases. Normally, they tell me if they're going away and I empty their mailbox and keep an eye on things. They didn't say anything though.' She paused. ‘I've heard some rumours around town and I guess that's what's really bothering me.'

‘And what have you heard?' Bob asked.

The woman looked around quickly as if someone might be listening in. She lowered her voice and leant in slightly. ‘That Barry's brother has been abusing young girls.'

‘And where did you hear that?' Bob continued.

The woman's eyes flicked left and right as she tried to compose a suitable answer that didn't compromise herself or her source. ‘You know . . . around. Is that why they left? And why you're here?'

Bob granted the woman a disarming smile. ‘Sorry, that's police business.'

‘Well, I hope they come back once things settle down. Must be hard on Barry, hearing those things about his brother. Barry's such an easygoing guy, but I think that would rattle anyone.'

‘If you see Belinda or Barry, could you let them know we were here?'

‘Sure thing,' the woman replied. If she was annoyed about the lack of information, she didn't show it. She returned across the road.

Bob and Sammi got back into the car.

‘There's another one who wants to know everything, but not tell us anything,' Sammi said, turning her hip so she could get past her Glock to the seatbelt clip.

‘Just a part of small-town life,' Bob replied.

32

Stuck in the office over the past few months, Sammi had discovered a new way of policing. Whilst not on active duty, she kept up-to-date by looking at the reports. There was a lot of information to be found in a police report if you cared to look. Not only the details of the incident as listed in the report, but also who put the report on, what time and how long before it was updated. She knew her colleagues and could read between the lines when need be. She knew who might under-exaggerate and play down a crime so they could wiggle out of conducting further investigations, or who would talk up an incident to try to draw the boss's attention to their work. So she read reports thoroughly as a matter of course now.

She was checking a detail in the Form One for Peter Woodford that she had generated for Terry.

‘You're kidding me,' she hissed under her breath as she read through the most recent supplementary report.

She started watching the door as well as the clock. So when Terry finally arrived for his shift, she knew he was seven minutes late. His detective sergeant was on holidays and he was clearly making the most of having no boss watching over him.

She followed him straight to the CIB office. He looked over his shoulder as she marched in behind him.

‘Are you stalking me?'

‘Yep,' Sammi replied.

‘Watch out, people will start to talk,' he said, with a smile.

Sammi stood in front of him as he plonked himself into his desk chair, ‘I wanted to ask you about Faye.'

‘Faye? Refresh my memory.'

‘Faye Woodford. The mother of the hanger in the shed. I saw your supplementary on the report.'

Terry gave her a half-smile. ‘Ah, she was okay about it.'

‘I can't believe you asked an elderly lady to identify her son when he was rotting from the inside out.'

‘They cleaned him up at the morgue. It wasn't too bad. It will take ages to get dental records back. Her identification will speed things up.'

It was a poor argument, Sammi thought. The cause of death wouldn't be listed until the toxicology results came back and that would take weeks.

‘So she identified him,' Terry said. ‘It's officially Pete the Ped. But yes, before you ask, I am still investigating it as a suspicious death. And we're organising dental records.'

‘If you are doing the dental records anyway, why did you make Faye do a visual ID? I hope the coroner has a crack at you about putting an old lady through that,' Sammi said.

‘I did it for the coroner, to get the file moving before the dental ID comes back. Why do you care anyway?' Terry argued.

‘Because it's the wrong thing to do.'

‘It's done now, it's all good, Sammi,' he said with his usual grin.

‘It's not just one big joke, Terry,' Sammi replied, then marched out, not turning back to see if he was still smiling.

33

Sammi was still cross when she returned to the front office. Cross about Terry's attitude. Cross about the lack of progress in finding a victim. She had hoped that by now someone in town would have come forward with more information about Peter's latest victim, if there was one. There must be something they were missing, something to point them in the right direction. And what about Peter? Had he really committed suicide? And why hadn't Faye been more surprised? There was more to this whole story than met the eye. Of that much, she was sure.

Sammi
went
out
to
the
front
counter
and
leant
up
against
it,
looking
at
Mel
as
if
she
had
the
answers.

‘Let's
do
some
brainstorming.
Where
would
Woodford
come
into
contact
with
a
child?'
Sammi
asked.

Mel
considered
this
briefly.
‘Nowhere.
In
this
town
at
least.
All
the
locals
know
him.
He's
not
going
to
get
away
with
volunteering
at
a
church
or
a
sports
club.'

‘So
something
might
have
happened
in
some
other
town?
And
that
may
explain
why
we
haven't
found
the
victim?
Maybe
they're
not
even
here
in
the
Crossing?'
Sammi
speculated.

Mel nodded distractedly.

‘But even if someone made a complaint somewhere else, he'd be listed as the suspect and there was nothing like that when I ran him through the system.' Sammi was thinking out loud. ‘He seems to keep to himself. Maybe he's been away somewhere and no one even noticed.'

Mel groaned and Sammi looked at her expectantly.

‘I've had an idea but it's unpleasant,' Mel said. ‘The people he seems to have regular contact with are his family. His mum, his brother. His brother's family.'

It was Sammi's turn to groan. ‘His niece. Nicola.' The little girl's bedroom she had spied through the window flashed through her mind.

Mel nodded. ‘Belinda's works shifts at the hospital. He might have had access to Nicola some time when Belinda and Barry were at work. Maybe Faye has been babysitting her. That's how it happened with Janey. And Peter's family stood by him through that like they believed he was innocent.'

‘But Nicola's only, like, six years old or something?'

‘She's eight or nine. Small for her age, I think.'

Sammi remembered Nicola with a pang of remorse. She couldn't recall noticing her any time before, though surely she would have been at some of the functions Sammi and Gavin had attended. One of those kids who hangs back and blends in.

‘She was terrified of us when we went around there to do the death knock,' Sammi said. ‘She seemed to think we put everyone in jail.' Sammi remembered how resolute Belinda had been that Nicola speak to them, how difficult that had been for the child. Part of her had wanted Belinda to leave the scared little girl alone.

‘She's a shy little thing,' Mel agreed.

‘Maybe too scared to talk to the police about anything that happened to her.'

‘Possibly,' Mel said. ‘Peter and Nicola – they're not blood relatives. Nicola was a toddler when Belinda got together with Barry. She moved to town when they started dating. But since when does any of that factor in for a pedophile?'

‘If that's the case,' Sammi said, ‘Barry might have rocketed to the top of the list of people to speak with. I don't think he's been seen since this all blew up. I'd have to check with Gavin but I don't think he's been back to work. It's reasonable that he be off for a few days. Looking after his mum and making arrangements for his brother would be a handy excuse. But what if he has had a hand in it all and he's on the run?'

Mel nodded. ‘Nicola called him “Dad”. He's the only father she's ever known. Maybe he found out Peter was abusing her and flipped out?'

‘Terry better do something with this,' Sammi said, shaking her head.