The Twisted Knot (6 page)

15

Although they were only metres apart in adjoining armchairs, they might as well have been at other ends of the house.

Gavin sat sideways in the armchair, so his legs dangled over the armrest. His feet were pointing in Sammi's direction. The TV was on but Sammi had taken charge of the remote control tonight. Not interested in another cooking show, Gavin had the laptop in front of him and was surfing the internet. He glanced up at Sammi. She was engrossed in her show. The screen of the laptop was facing away from her. He hesitated then googled the police recruiting site.

The boys at the station had been confident he wouldn't hit any hurdles through the application process. Physical fitness tests, easy. Medical assessment, no problems. He had more police referees than you could poke a stick at. Psychological assessment should be okay. If some of the police he knew had made it through, he shouldn't have any problem.

He was keen as mustard. It was a job he would really be able to sink his teeth into. He had gone stale in his current job. He'd been a mechanic for thirteen years. It was a dirty, sweaty job that involved squeezing into tight spaces, burning yourself on hot engines and constantly grazing your knuckles battling seized-up bolts. It had been a good trade. But it had run its course now, it was time to move on. Joining the coppers was a great plan. Good money, job security. But he was completely taken aback by Sammi's reaction, so much so that he was hesitant to mention it again. She had liked it when he had supported her, been her shoulder to lean on through the hard months after her abduction. Or at least that's what he had thought. And now she'd gone cold, didn't even want him in the same job as her.

Possible reasons why tumbled through his head. She didn't want to spend more time with him. She was having an affair at work. She thought he was too dumb to be a cop. Part of him knew none of these were true. But because he didn't know exactly why she was opposing his career change, his mind filled in the blanks with wild speculation.

He clicked though the screens on the website to the one he was looking for. He filled in his address details. A message popped up that a recruit application package would be sent out to him.

Why was Sammi being so selfish? This wasn't about her.

16

It was Mel who noticed the package when she unlocked the front door of the station at 8 a.m.

‘Hey Bob, Sammi, come have a look.'

Bob took one look at the package outside the front door and turned around.

‘Wait while I get some gloves,' he said, returning quickly and pulling the blue latex over his hands. It was a plain brown envelope with ‘Attention Police' printed in neat capitals across the front. The out-of-shape skull and crossbones seemed at odds with the neat writing.

‘What do you reckon, Bob?' Sammi asked. The note from the other day was fresh in her mind, but mystery packages left at the front of a police station always had to be treated seriously. Operational procedures recommended calling in the bomb squad when in doubt. But that was impractical in a town like Angel's Crossing. And Bob was a practical man.

‘It's fairly small and soft. Unlikely to be a bomb. And this is Angel's Crossing, not Canberra.' He grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped through the tape at one end of the package. Carefully, he unfolded the edge and cautiously opened it up. He peered in, saying nothing. He gave the package a small shake, and poked a finger in. He snipped another piece of tape and shook the contents of the package onto the counter. Rope. White rope. Bob smoothed it flat with latex fingers. The rope was tied into a noose. A proper string-'em-up hangman's noose. A piece of A4 printer paper accompanied it.

‘Peter Woodford is a pedophile. Do something before we do.' was printed in neat capitals across the page. Sammi recognised the same neat handwriting from the last note.

Bob pulled a large clip-seal bag out from under the counter.

‘We'll see what Forensics can do with this,' he said grimly, bagging the noose and envelope for examination. ‘This is taking it too far. You can't string up a man, even if he is scum.'

‘The boss already asked me to try to identify a victim today. I'll get onto it,' Sammi said.

‘Any ideas?' Bob asked.

‘I'll make some phone calls,' Sammi said. ‘See if I can find the source of the whispers.'

‘My wife was asking me whether it's true or not,' Bob said. ‘The rumours have ripped through town like wildfire. Someone's got to know where it all started.'

‘I'm pretty sure Wendy knows the victim. But she's made it clear she's not telling. They're demanding action but won't give us the info we need to take that action.'

‘See what you can find out,' Bob said. ‘Make it a priority.' He took the bag and headed up towards the boss's office.

17

There was absolutely no justice to it. They'd done nothing to deserve this. And yet they would be the ones punished. She had spent the last few nights wrestling with the notion that she'd somehow asked for it. That, by some act or omission, she'd invited this tragedy into their lives. She thought back over small events punctuating the past. Was there a clue, something she should have noticed but didn't? Could she identify that ‘sliding doors' moment when she could have made a choice that would have prevented all of this happening?

And there was worse to come. Their secrets would come out. It was not a question of ‘if', but ‘when'.

She wanted to lash out.
They
were the victims. Theirs were the lives being impacted. They were the ones who would eventually have to leave town, change jobs and schools, move away from friends. It would be the only way to leave the whole nasty mess behind.

He'd had the nerve to pretend nothing had happened the first time, even to protest his innocence. He would do it again. There was no remorse. He was a predator. Jail would be too good for him. He would be put in with the other protected prisoners. They would hang out in their air-conditioned cells, with their government-funded video games, talking about their conquests, comparing their methods and learning new tricks. That was no punishment.

The rumours had reached saturation point and still there was no action. The police were ineffective; indifferent, despite the prodding. The law favoured the guilty liars. By making things as difficult as possible for the victim, it made things easier for the offender. It wasn't right.

How could they possibly keep living here? How could they stay and see him around the town? How? Why should he not suffer for what he had done? That was the question now. How could this be made right?

18

Today was one of those days that made officers try to avoid working at the front counter. Sammi spent most of her shift attempting to sort out a neighbourhood dispute over the phone. It had started with noisy music and had escalated to pushing and shoving on the nature strip. By the time she had finished, Sammi had spoken to two real estate agents and the neighbours across the road before she felt she had resolved the situation. She could have simply given the first man some advice and sent him on his way, but she hoped by doing the job thoroughly it might stop further complaints. And prevent another officer having to start from the beginning. So it was almost lunchtime before she had a chance to try to work out who, if anyone, was Peter Woodford's latest victim.

She started by ringing the local primary school. She was friends with the deputy principal. You were always more likely to get some inside information from someone you knew personally, who you had built up some trust with. Although he too had heard the rumours, he couldn't point her in the right direction. Sammi asked about children absent from school, abnormal behaviour reported by teachers, any sort of warning sign. Teachers were obliged to make a report to the Department of Child Safety if they had any evidence that a child was being abused. But there had been no referrals and Sammi believed the deputy when he told her he knew nothing that could help her.

‘Seriously, Sammi, if I knew, I'd whisper it your way. It's very concerning. All the parents are talking about it. Everyone's getting fired up.'

Sammi thanked him before hanging up. There was no high school in Angel's Crossing and Sammi had no contacts at the nearest school in the next town. She had spoken to the principal one time previously, but the level of trust required to get some sort of information outside of the prescribed regulations wasn't there. It was a pointless phone call, but a box ticked.

Sammi kept making more phone calls but couldn't shake the heavy feeling that she was on the wrong track. She tried the hospital and the local doctor's surgery, even though they too were obliged by law to report anything indicating abuse. She thought about pedophile cases she'd heard about, or read about. How had the offender been caught out in other cases? The victim spoke out. And then followed through.

Why wouldn't this victim or their family come to the police now? Why were they silent when the town was full of rumours? These questions nagged at Sammi. She could come up with several answers. The victim's family wanted to protect their child. Perhaps the victim was scared of the offender. Or scared of the police.

Unbidden, an image popped into Sammi's mind. A figure looming over her, blocking out the sky. The feeling of helplessness, submission. A predator. She pushed it back, focused on her investigation.

Her mind kept circling back to Kayleen and Wendy. She was certain they knew who the victim was. They wouldn't tell her because of the way Janey's case had fallen apart and the tragic consequences to their family. Perhaps that was why the victim's family didn't trust the police to investigate. The consequences of the victim's name getting out in such a small town were obvious. It would be hard to live here after that. She'd found it hard enough to return to town after her abduction. Knowing everyone was talking about her, pointing her out to each other in the street, feeling sorry for her – it had made her cringe. Even if she did identify the victim, how would she go about convincing the person to make a complaint in the face of all this opposition?

Her mobile phone buzzed in her pocket, signalling a message. She felt an odd sense of unease whenever her phone rang or buzzed with a message. An ominous feeling that this phone call may change everything. That it might be bad news. The psychologist had lumped it in with her other symptoms of paranoia, but it was a plausible scenario to Sammi. A single unremarkable event could be the start of a life-changing episode. In fact, most life-changing events came without portent. They came under the guise of everyday life. A message on your phone. A knock at the door. A night out with a friend.

So whenever her phone buzzed she felt an urgent need to check it as soon as possible, to make sure it was nothing important. Even if she was talking with other people when the message came in, she couldn't help flipping open the case of her phone to check. This time it was only Gavin, asking if she wanted Thai takeaway tonight. She texted a quick ‘Yes' back. Then added the word ‘please' and a couple of x's so it looked like she cared what they ate. What would it be like to have him at the station? Just the thought made her chest tighten. She told herself he wouldn't be looking over her shoulder, checking up on her. He wasn't like that. Also, she would be senior to him. If anything happened at home, he would still have to stay in his place at work.
It would be good to have him here
, she told herself. He would be on her side.

But she couldn't imagine him walking through the back door with the uniform on.

19

Aiden didn't mind night work. Especially in winter when nothing moved in the night air and daytime was the perfect temperature for sleeping. The humidity of a summer night seemed to wind some people right up. Not that he minded a bit of action. Going toe-to-toe with a drunk in the pub or wrestling a wife-beater usually gave him immense satisfaction. But he hadn't joined the police to punch on with punters. He was on his way to bigger and better things. There was no doubt in his mind that he was destined to climb up through the ranks. He was a leader, someone who could make decisions and see them through. He knew how to use his authority and wouldn't back down.

Not like Tom – he was a follower. Sure, he could handle himself in a tense situation. But he was too concerned about what other people thought, seemed to have trouble making unpopular decisions and following them through. But that's why the two of them got on. He let Aiden call the shots.

It had been Tom's turn to drive and, being a Saturday night, he'd taken the paddy wagon. As they drove down the main street, they saw a rowdy group forming at the front of the Royal. The wagon may come in handy tonight. Five men were on the footpath making a rough circle. There were yells and jostling among them. Something was brewing.

‘Let's see what's going on,' Tom said, mounting the kerb and pulling up with two wheels on the footpath. They jumped out and approached the men. The group split apart so they were all facing the police.

‘Evening, gentlemen,' Tom said. ‘What's going on tonight?'

Aiden scanned the faces, looking for any of the usual suspects.

‘Nothing to worry about here.'

Aiden didn't recognise the man who spoke, didn't think he was a local. He looked to be in his early forties, but also looked as if life had been unkind to him.

The man took a step towards Tom and continued. ‘We're just sorting out how to do your job for you.' The words came on a wave of liquor fumes.

Aiden stepped between them. Tom's ‘softly, softly' approach wasn't going to cut it here. ‘Have I met you?' he asked curtly.

‘No. You haven't been here long, have you?'

‘Long enough. What's your name?'

‘Eric Lutczyk.' He said it as if Aiden should know who he was.

‘And what job is it that you think you're going to do for us?'

‘Getting rid of that kiddy fiddler. You blokes aren't doing anything.' He shifted his weight as if he was getting ready to shape up.

‘Might seem that way to you. But these things don't happen overnight.' Aiden had heard some of the story, about the mob at the station and the raft of rumours. He had no idea how the investigation was going.

‘Jail's too fucken good for him anyway,' Eric said.

One of the other men put his hand on Eric's shoulder. ‘C'mon, mate, let's go,' he said.

But Eric wasn't ready to back down. ‘Someone's got to do something permanent. It's time to wipe him off the face of the earth.'

‘Are you making threats?' Aiden said.

‘So what if I am? You lot aren't going to do anything about it.'

‘A smarter man wouldn't brag about crimes to a copper.'

‘I'm not scared of you. I'll say what I like. There's a crim in town who needs to be taken care of.'

Aiden appraised him. ‘What have you got in your pockets that you shouldn't have, Eric?'

‘Nothing,' he replied.

‘Let's have a look then.' Aiden gestured for Eric to come across to the police car. ‘Empty your pockets. Put everything on the boot there.'

Eric held Aiden in a bloodshot gaze as if he was sizing him up. Aiden kept his weight on the balls of his feet and his hands loose by his sides. He was ready for any move the other man may make. Aiden was confident in his ability to either outrun or outfight this drunk. Tom had already positioned himself to the left of the man, facing side on so he could keep an eye on the man's friends. They were starting to disperse now that the ringleader had been removed.

Eric huffed a little, but reached into his pockets. A wallet. A nearly empty packet of smokes. A blue lighter. ‘Fuck it,' the man muttered as he put a black handled folding knife out of his pocket. It was as long as the man's wallet, with a lug on the blade so it could be opened one handed.

‘Anything else?' Aiden asked.

‘Nope. That's it. You got me. Good for you.'

Aiden pushed the knife across the boot to Tom, out of the Eric's reach. Tom grabbed the knife and disappeared into the back of the police car.

‘I'm not going to ask you why you're walking around with a knife like that, making threats against people. But I am going to seize it and send you to court.'

Eric sneered. ‘You do what you reckon. Send me to court for a little knife in my pocket while you're letting the real criminals walk around free. Yeah, that's justice.'

Tom reappeared with the Notice to Appear and Field Property Receipt booklets. He handed the NTA book to Aiden and started filling out a receipt for the knife.

Aiden wrote the NTA filling out the details of the ‘possess knife in a public place' charge and court details.

‘Here you go,' he said, handing the paperwork to Eric. ‘Time to go home now. It's over for the night.'

‘It's not over,' Eric hissed. ‘It's hardly begun.'