The Twisted Knot (19 page)

55

As her shovel broke up the dry dirt, the devastating conversation that had started all of this rose unbidden into her mind. Every word was burnt into her memory. She suspected it always would be. It had started out as a such an ordinary moment. At home, fixing lunch while her daughter jabbered about this and that – her friend's kitten, a new ballet move, a book she was reading. And then, out of nowhere, the topic changed.

‘What will happen to Uncle Peter if I tell the police?'

‘He's not your uncle,' Belinda snapped. The reaction was visceral. Even his name turned her stomach. Ever since Nicola had described the abhorrent way he'd been violating her.

Nicola dropped her eyes. ‘He said they'd bash him and hurt him,' she mumbled. ‘Just because he loves me. It's not his fault that he loves me. I'm loveable.'

Belinda considered this for a minute. Her daughter still had an emotional connection to this monster. He had groomed her so well that, regardless of what he'd done, she still cared what the consequences for him were. Belinda had since read about this, the conditioning process, where the victim had been trained to love the person who was abusing them. Nicola believed Peter loved her because she was a nice person. Not because she was a child and he was a sicko. And now she was concerned that her actions may hurt a person who loved her. This empathy was a fine trait, and consideration for others was something Belinda had always encouraged. But it had been warped and twisted into something foul.

She looked at her daughter, and for the first time she saw her as a victim. She was shy and withdrawn. She didn't socialise easily. She was clingy and had low self-esteem. How could she, as her mother, not have seen it, not recognised the signs and asked earlier what might be wrong? Nicola was damaged. She was no longer an innocent little girl and she never would be again.

‘Are you mad at me, Mum?' Nicola asked quietly. Absorbed in her own thoughts, Belinda had failed to answer Nicola's question about Peter. The girl's wide brown eyes were anxious and fearful. Belinda reached across to give her daughter a fierce hug.

‘No, no. I'm not mad at you, Nici,' she said. How to explain it? Eight was still so young. She thought she'd still have a couple of years before she had to give a “birds and bees” talk. Maybe if she had done it earlier, Nicola might have known what was happening, and discerned the wrongness of it all. Maybe she would have fought him off. Or told her sooner. Or called for help. The “ors” and “ifs” were driving Belinda crazy, like an irritating mosquito bite that you scratch at so hard you draw blood. She had to take action.

‘He's not your uncle. You know Dad is not your real dad. Jeff's your real father. I know you don't see him much, but he is your father. So you're not really related to Peter at all. You're not even related to Dad, to Barry, except that I married him,'
Belinda
explained.
‘What
Peter
did
is
very,
very
wrong.
Grown-ups
shouldn't touch children like that. I didn't talk to you about it before, because I never thought that you might need to know so soon. Usually that's something mums talk to their daughters about when they are a bit older. I'm so sorry.' Belinda's eyes were brimming with tears. ‘This is not something you've done; this is in no way your fault. This is something that has been done to you.'

‘I didn't know he wasn't meant to do it,' Nicola said. ‘He said it was the way people show each other that they love them. He said everybody did it and it was normal, and he didn't mean it when it hurt. Not everybody does it though, do they, Mum?'

‘No . . .' Belinda said. She should explain it now, tell her about sex. Take a deep breath and launch into the “talk”. But it seemed like the wrong time. This was already so confusing for Nicola. Belinda needed time to think about her words, to prepare an answer that made sense to a manipulated eight-year-old.

‘Only adults do it. Adults do it when they love each other,' Belinda said and left it at that for now.

‘Do you and Dad do it?' Nicola asked softly, her eyes flicking sideways across to her mother.

‘Yes, Dad and I do it, because we love each other,' Belinda answered. She couldn't bring herself to elaborate further. How could she explain that what Peter had done to Nici could also be a beautiful and wonderful act that people enjoyed doing with each other?

‘It doesn't hurt when Dad does it,' Nicola said. ‘It's probably because I love him. He's always more gentle than Uncle Peter. And he doesn't smell funny.'

Belinda stared at Nicola. Her stomach dropped away. She heard a strangled cry and realised it came from her own mouth. Nicola was watching her, her innocent face tilted slightly on its side. Belinda drew a very deep breath.

‘Noooo . . .' The word came out on the exhale.

‘Mum? Are you okay?'

She had to ask. She had to hear it, couldn't trust herself to fill in the gaps.

‘Does Dad . . . Barry . . . touch you too?' she asked Nicola. Her voice sounded like it came from very far away.

Nicola nodded. ‘Yes, but it's all right because I love him and we're family,' she said. ‘I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want you to get more cross. But it's okay if people do it if they love each other, isn't it?' In that moment, time slowed down. Belinda reached a hand towards her daughter, but it was like moving through treacle.

‘Oh my god,' she whispered. Her hand fell short of her daughter's arm as she jumped to her feet. She ran to the toilet and wrenched the lid open, dropping to her knees and clutching at the cool porcelain as her stomach contents splattered onto the smooth white of the bowl. The ground heaved and swelled like waves in the ocean, and she threw up again. Orange juice, toast and stomach bile.

Nicola was behind her, her small hand felt like an anvil resting on her shoulder.

‘Mum? Are you okay?'

Belinda flipped the lid down and reached up to flush the toilet. She pressed her forehead against the lid. Words failed her. She breathed deeply, exhaling heavily through pursed lips as if she could blow the truth away.

‘Mum?'

‘Barry's . . . not allowed . . . to do that to you,' she said. She had no further explanation.

‘I didn't want to get him into trouble,' Nicola said. ‘He said he'd have to go away and we couldn't be a family anymore. Can we still be a family?' Belinda could hear the concern in her voice.

How could she have failed Nicola so much? How could she have been so deceived by these two bastards? Her husband. The man she had married. The man she had laid with and made love to. He had done the same thing with her daughter. The betrayal felt like a physical slap. Something inside Belinda recoiled so hard it snapped. Barry would have known what his brother was doing. He had given his brother access to Nicola when she was at work. She was suddenly certain of this. How could she have missed it? Pedophile brothers, working together against one helpless victim.

Another thought dawned on Belinda. What if Barry had never really loved her? What if he had only started the relationship so he could have access to her daughter? She ripped open the lid of the toilet as the nausea struck again.

She made the decision as she panted, with her head resting on the toilet seat. She'd already laid plans for Peter, had decided on the shape of justice. She would mete it out fairly.

56

Bob had done the 6 a.m. handover with Tom and Aiden, so he had all the latest for Sammi when she arrived at eight o'clock.

Sammi laughed as he described how cranky Aiden was about losing the pursuit.

‘I don't know what bothered him more – being outrun, or being outrun by a hatchback,' Bob said.

‘Ha! We're going to get some mileage out of that one,' she said. ‘Pun intended.'

‘Anyway, there's still some follow-up to be done out at that shed,' Bob said. ‘Do you want to come out and have a poke around?'

‘For sure,' Sammi said. She meant it. Kit on, ready to go. With each successful shift on the road, every job completed without incident, Sammi's confidence was growing.

They were basically going for a stickybeak. Things that go unnoticed in the middle of the night may be obvious in the light of day. And so it was that they found the car.

It was Bob who had decided to drive around the farm after they'd walked around the house and shed. The car, a small silver ute, was parked behind a pump shed at the dam. It had been carefully driven onto the dirt edge of the dam and then tucked in behind the small shed. It couldn't be seen from the house, or the driveway or even the neighbour's. It wasn't until you drove past the dam that you could see it.

They did a rego check on the plates and neither of them were overly surprised when it came up in Peter Woodford's name. This was the ute that had been missing from his house. And now it had turned up at a farm where someone had been hiding out in a shed and had mysteriously disappeared.

‘Pieces are starting to fall into place, hey?' Sammi said. ‘So, Barry was the body in the shed and Peter's been hiding out here. I reckon the neighbour was right about the gunshots and I doubt we'll ever hear from Peter again.'

‘Okay, I agree that Peter's come undone because he's been abusing Nicola. But that doesn't explain why Barry's dead,' Bob said.

‘I reckon Barry was a pedophile too,' Sammi said. ‘It's a horrible thought – poor little Nicola was living with the man who was abusing her and was too scared to say anything. Either that or Barry knowingly gave Peter access to Nicola. That's nearly as bad.'

‘That would explain it,' Bob replied. ‘Someone's found out about Barry and he felt so guilty, he hung himself.'

‘Or someone's strung him up the way a number of people in town have been threatening to do with Peter.'

‘Possible. And there'd be a whole list of suspects there,' Bob said.

‘You know who I think is the key to it all? Belinda,' Sammi said. ‘If Nici was going to disclose anything to anyone, it would have been her mum. I don't think anyone's seen or heard from Belinda since we did the death knock. She's got all the answers.'

Bob grimaced. ‘I find it hard to believe Belinda Woodford could be tangled up in this sort of mess,' he said. ‘She's a nurse, isn't she? She cares for the welfare of others.'

‘Don't underestimate the wrath of a woman when it comes to her children,' Sammi said with a grim smile.

‘Yeah, but normal working mothers don't go around getting involved in complex murder plots,' Bob said.

‘What if it was your daughter?' Sammi knew Bob's daughter had grown up and left home but that was a moot point. ‘What would you do if someone had done something unspeakable to Sharna?'

‘I'd report the matter and let CPIU deal with it,' Bob replied without hesitation.

Sammi studied him. ‘Okay,
you
might do that. But what would your wife do?'

‘She'd do the same,' he said. But there had been a lengthy pause before he gave that answer.

57

It had taken several hours to bury the body properly, but when they returned to the house, it was with a sense of relief. A case had been closed. A long, drawn-out ugly case. They had smacked it shut with the backs of two shovels.

Kayleen had the kettle boiling and by the time Belinda and Wendy had washed up, there were three coffees waiting on the kitchen table.

They sat in silence for a minute, warming their hands around the mugs. Belinda gathered her thoughts and spoke first.

‘So, a lot of this probably doesn't make sense to you,' she ventured.

‘I can think of a couple of scenarios which would explain it all,' Wendy replied. ‘You won't get any judgement here. You're amongst friends.'

Kayleen nodded her agreement.

‘You know the start of it,' Belinda said. ‘Nicola told me about Peter raping her. I didn't know what to do or who to turn to.'

‘That's the day you turned up here,' Wendy said.

Belinda nodded. ‘Once you both explained what had happened with Janey, I knew there was no way I could do that to Nici, put her through police interviews and medical exams. She's such a timid child and I think Peter might have told her things to make her scared of police And even if I put her through it all, it might be for nothing anyway.'

Kayleen nodded. ‘Janey was devastated. She kept asking when were the police going to do something. We didn't know what to tell her.'

‘The fury and frustration. It was unbearable,' Belinda said. ‘That sense of powerlessness was eating me up. I had to do something or I was scared I wouldn't be able to live with myself.'

Kayleen and Wendy both nodded. Belinda knew she didn't have to spell that out to these two women.

‘So I made a plan to get rid of Peter. We often have dinner with him on a Friday. I planned to drug them both, him and Barry . . .' The name caught in her throat. ‘I was going to take Peter out into the bush somewhere he'd never be found and put a bullet into him. I had Barry's rifle in the boot of the car. Then I'd take Barry home, put him to bed and go crook at him the next morning for drinking too much. Next I'd tell him what Peter had done to Nicola and that I'd confronted him about it. He'd assume Peter got scared and did a runner. I thought he'd be on my side, that he'd be angry too. He's the only father Nicola's ever known. I thought he loved her.' She stopped to sip at her coffee. The other women were silent, expectant. She hadn't told them the worst part and they knew it.

‘But earlier that day, the Friday I planned to shoot Peter, Nici started talking to me about what Peter had done. And then she casually mentioned that Barry was doing it too.'

Kayleen gasped and put her hand up to her mouth. There was a difference between guessing something and hearing it said out loud.

Belinda took a deep breath and then it came tumbling out. The anger, the betrayal, the tears, the despair at the degradation of her daughter.

‘She loves him!' she cried. ‘She thought it was okay because they loved each other. She only told me about Peter because she didn't like him. Because he smelt funny and had rough hands. Hearing about Barry made me throw up on the spot.'

Kayleen moved around to Belinda's seat and put her arms around her. Belinda pressed her cheek against the other woman's chest but the tears would not come.

‘We tell children stories about Easter bunnies and tooth fairies and they believe every word we say. So of course they believe it when someone they trust says, “This is normal, this is how people show they love each other”. It's completely sickening.' Kayleen squeezed tighter.

‘So it was Barry in the shed?' Wendy asked quietly. Kayleen released her grip and returned to her chair.

‘Yes. I'd already decided I was going to get rid of Peter so why should it be any different for Barry? If anything, what Barry did was worse. The double betrayal. Not only of Nicola, but of me, of our marriage. He would have known what Peter was doing too. They worked together, I'm sure of it. Two men against one little girl. She's only eight. God knows when they started. I always made sure Peter never babysat, that Barry was looking after her. It never entered my mind that I had to protect her from Barry too. My husband.'

‘Bastard,' Wendy hissed.

‘I decided to stick with my plan to drug them. Then I intended on taking them both into the bush and shooting them. But Peter was a suspicious bastard. He must have sensed something was up. Barry passed out first and Peter ran for the door. He jumped into his car and was gone. What was I going to do? Chase after him? Crash tackle him? Try to shoot him out of a moving car?' She shook her head.

‘I needed to come up with something on the spot. The biggest problem was that Barry and Peter were now both going to disappear at the same time. Everyone knew that Peter was a pedophile but no one knew that Barry was just as bad. I don't know what gave me the idea of making it look like a suicide. I thought maybe the police would accept a pedophile might kill himself and not look any further. I knew if the body hung in the shed for a couple of days, they wouldn't recognise it was Barry and would probably assume it was Peter hanging in his own shed. Then if we left town, maybe no one would realise Barry was missing. They'd think we left because of all the gossip. I knew Peter would hide. He hates police, and would have assumed they were after him anyway once he knew that I knew what he'd done to Nicola.'

‘It worked,' Kayleen said. ‘Everybody thinks it is Peter. And I've heard some whispers around town that Barry's on the run because he killed Peter.'

‘They'll never find Peter,' Wendy said. ‘They've got no witnesses now.'

‘There is one person who knows. But it turns out she's on my side. Faye.'

‘Peter's mum? She knows?' Kayleen looked surprised.

Belinda nodded. ‘She's caught in the middle. Her husband abused both Peter and Barry and she never acted. She's been carrying the guilt all these years. It's sad on one level, although it doesn't excuse it. Anyway, I think Faye felt so guilty about it all that when she found out Nicola was being abused, she turned her back on her sons to help us out. So she did what she could to keep information from the police. And then when she found out that Peter was still alive, she let me know where he was hiding out. And I could finish off what I started.'

‘I never understood that woman but this explains a bit. Good on her for finally finding some backbone,' Wendy said.

‘Yes. She's actually been very helpful. But unfortunately, she's told me now the police have been asking questions about who it actually was in the shed. So it might not be all over yet. I'd say the police are looking for me. I've got my phone turned off, I haven't told anyone where we are. But I'm really not sure how much they know. Or what to do next.'

There was silence. They all looked down, not making eye contact, processing what had happened.

‘Did he suffer?' Wendy said abruptly. Kayleen looked up, directly at Belinda's face.

‘Who? Peter? Or Barry?'

‘Both. But that arsehole, Peter. Did he suffer? Did he see it coming? Did he know he was going to die? Did he know why he was going to die?'

‘Yes.' Belinda nodded curtly. She could understand why the question had been asked.

‘No judgement,' Kayleen murmured, her eyes staring into Belinda's.

‘The first shot didn't kill him. He looked me in the eye. Then I shot him again.'

‘Hearing that, kind of . . .' Wendy searched for the right word, ‘. . . helps.'

All three women nodded.

‘A little retribution. Better than jail,' Kayleen agreed.

Belinda paused. ‘Barry didn't know,' she said. ‘He never knew I was onto him.'

‘He was unconscious when I hung him. He didn't wake up. But he's dead too. He'll never do it again.'

‘That bastard was worse than his brother,' Wendy spat.

‘I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved with what happened to Janey too,' Belinda said softly.

Kayleen made a small strangled noise, her face twisting.

‘Everyone's on your side. We'll help you any way we can,' Wendy said softly to Belinda. ‘You're the one who had the courage to follow it through.'

‘I had to,' Belinda said. ‘The day will come when Nicola will start to understand what happened, what's been done to her. And I want to be able to look her in the eye and say, “I did everything I could”. But I'm terrified. What if the police work it all out? How much worse would it be if Nici has to come and visit me in jail every weekend, knowing I killed the man she called “Dad”?'

‘You'll be all right,' Kayleen said. ‘Janey's watching over you.' Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke. Although Kayleen choked back her first sob, it triggered something in Belinda. The armour she'd clothed herself in – preparedness, efficiency and focus – peeled away. She was a mother whose daughter had been hurt, whose heart had been broken and whose trust had been betrayed in the vilest way. The sobbing started and the three women drew together.

If there had been any previous doubt in her mind about whether she had done the right thing, these two women nursing their grief in an empty house erased it.

*

The sun was high in the sky before she ventured out again. Clothes and number plates had been changed. Wendy had given Belinda directions to the most obscure back roads out of the neighbourhood back to Brisbane. If a police car had stopped her, they would have found nothing to prove she hadn't driven back to town to visit a friend. But they didn't.

After a couple of hours driving, she pulled up at a random highway rest stop. She took the battery out of Peter's phone to access the sim card. She snapped it in half and wrapped the pieces in a plastic bag along with his wallet. She left everything in the wallet, hesitating slightly over the $160 in cash. He no longer needed it. But she ended up throwing that out too. She wasn't a thief.

And that was it. That was the best she could do to cover her tracks.

Nicola could never find out. If she never knew, she would never have to consider it or evaluate it, or lie about it. Her ignorance would be another way Belinda would protect her.

Belinda would have to tell her that she had left Barry, that he was no longer husband and father. She wanted to do it in such a way that the little girl wouldn't connect it to what “Dad” had done to her. It seemed impossible though. Nicola was sharp as a tack and would likely see through any excuses Belinda offered her. Best to call it a holiday with Nanna and then slowly let time and distance do the actual severing. In a few years time, she would hardly remember Barry. At least not as her father, though perhaps as her abuser.

Maybe one day, if Nicola became a mother, if she cradled a baby girl in her arms and promised to care for and protect her and be the best mother she could, maybe then she might understand.

She must not find out before then though. The thought of being condemned by the one person she did it all for was more than Belinda could bear. She didn't know what damage had already been wreaked on her child psychologically. She would get her professional help. There would be injury that Nicola probably wouldn't even recognise until she was old enough to understand sex and love, manipulation and power. Belinda recognised already that her daughter's whole concept of love had already been warped to suit the plans of predators. Would time help to heal this? Or would Nici forever seek out men who would abuse her?

Belinda sighed heavily. She had done the best she could.