The Twisted Knot (9 page)

Bob grinned at her. ‘Wonder if Terry saw that? Good thing it's going to be a CIB matter. C'mon, let's go see where he is.'

Terry had gone into the house. Bob called in through the front door. ‘Oi, Terry, do you want us in or out?'

‘In,' Terry called, ‘but don't touch anything.' That went without saying. Both Sammi and Bob had their blue latex gloves on already. Sammi spotted the police calling card wedged between the door jamb and the wall. She recognised Aiden's writing – ‘Call if you want to make a complaint' and the station number.

‘In the bedroom,' Terry called.

Sammi breathed through her mouth as she navigated through the house, but she was still overwhelmed by the sharp tang of urine as she moved past the toilet. The bedroom floor was strewn with clothes. Terry stood amongst them, lifting items with his foot.

‘I'm looking for a computer or laptop, or a camera. Even a phone,' he said. ‘Give me a hand, hey? If we can find something to prove the pedophile accusations that will be a step forward.'

‘Might identify the victim,' Sammi added.

‘Grab his wallet if you see it too.'

She started rummaging around the bedroom. She had a sneaking suspicion that Terry was having a ‘boy's look', and had probably walked right past the phone.

‘I'll check the lounge room,' Bob said.

‘I've checked everywhere obvious,' Terry said, lifting the corner of the mattress and peering under it. ‘Seems strange. He might not be into porn or taking photos or whatever else peds like to do. So maybe he doesn't have a camera but he's bound to have a phone. Doesn't everyone have a mobile these days?'

Sammi straightened up. ‘Unless someone else has already been through and grabbed it. You know what else I haven't seen? His car.'

‘Wasn't there a ute parked out the side of the shed?' Terry replied.

‘That old thing? That looked like a paddock basher to me. He'll have another car, I bet.'

‘Don't start with friggin' conspiracy theories,' Terry said, letting the mattress fall back with a thud. ‘It's a suicide. Normal people don't go around murdering other people, even if they are pedophiles. Not unless you're on
Law & Order
or something.'

‘You've got kids, Terry. What if someone did something to Annabelle?'

‘I'd kill 'em. But I'd be smart about it, make sure I'm not caught.'

‘Like making it look like a suicide?' Sammi countered.

Terry looked at her in surprise, then laughed. ‘Yeah and hope that it's me investigating.'

‘Would someone kill him and then steal his car?' Sammi posed.

‘Just because his car's not parked out the front, doesn't mean it's stolen. You can try to solicit an unlawful use complaint from the dead bloke if you like.' Terry grinned. Macabre humour was usually par for the course at a job like this.

Terry regarded Sammi. ‘How long have you been back on the road?'

Sammi glanced at her watch. ‘About an hour,' she replied coolly.

‘This is your first job?' He pointed towards the shed.

‘Yep. I figured there'd be no punching on at a 501,' Sammi replied. Terry cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Actually,' Sammi continued, ‘we came out to talk to him about the scarecrow. I've been trying to wade through the rumours and find out if there was another victim. We were using the scarecrow as an excuse to come and talk to him.'

‘Fair enough,' Terry said. ‘The reason I'm asking is I'm going to need someone to do the death knock. You up for it?' He glanced across at Bob, who had moved to Sammi's side.

Sammi shrugged. ‘Yeah. I'm up for it.' Death knocks were one of the most avoided jobs in general. All police officers were taught how to tell someone that a loved one was dead. But officers often didn't know how to deal with the grief afterwards. Or they did know what to do, but felt weird giving comfort and support to a total stranger. Sammi had never shirked death knocks. She believed officers should play to their strengths. When it was time to wrestle a drunk, she expected a male partner to lead off. In the same way, when it was time for the touchy-feely stuff, she felt people usually responded better to a woman. She looked at Bob. ‘Do you know the family? Is Barry the next of kin? Or does their mum still live locally?'

‘Their mum, Faye, lives in town.'

Sammi remembered Wendy and Kayleen mentioning Faye Woodford now.

‘I'm pretty sure I know the house,' Bob continued. ‘She used to live here but moved into town a while ago.'

‘Do you think we should go to the mum's or tell Barry first?' Sammi asked.

Bob considered this. ‘Probably Barry.' He turned to Terry. ‘We'll head off, okay?'

‘Yeah, thanks,' Terry said. ‘I'll hang out here for Forensics.'

As they walked out to their car, the dog reappeared, slinking close to the house. Sammi crouched and gave a low whistle, holding her hand out. It came slowly, cautiously. It sniffed Sammi's hand, then licked it and gave its tail a little wag. Sammi patted the dog's flank and dust rose from the fur.

‘Poor thing,' she murmured. ‘How long have you been hanging out here by yourself?' She stood up and the dog skittered backwards.

‘I'll only be a minute,' she told Bob. Inside the house, she grabbed the bulk bag of dog biscuits and lugged it down the back stairs. She wasn't sure if the house would become a crime scene during the course of the day, or what arrangements could be made for the little dog. She didn't bother hunting down a dog bowl, simply poured a generous portion onto the concrete in the laundry. The dog needed no invitation, eating ravenously as Sammi filled a bucket with water. She placed it on the floor next to the dog and gave it a pat on the back.

She resolved to talk to Barry about the animal.

Sammi exhaled deeply as she swung into the passenger's seat, expelling the unsavoury flavours of this particular job. As Bob flicked the ignition on, she turned the air-conditioning up to high.

‘Regretting that you wanted to come out?' he asked.

‘Nah,' Sammi answered, fiddling with the temperature control. ‘I'm glad I saw this end of the job. Even if another victim turns up, at least this part is resolved now. He's not going to offend against anyone else. I want to be the one to tell Wendy. I want to see the look on her face.'

‘Fair enough,' Bob said. ‘But you don't know what reception you'll get. She might be angry because he was never brought to justice. He took the cheat's way out.'

‘Hmm.' Sammi pondered this. ‘She kept saying how unfair it was that Janey had to be put through the wringer in order to get enough to charge him. And I tend to agree with her.'

‘Yep. That's because you think he was guilty. And he probably was. But you need to look at it from another point of view, though. Imagine it was a loving father whose marriage has split up, and there's a little girl at the centre of a custody dispute. You've seen it often enough, at DVs. One parent tries to turn the child against the other parent, for financial reasons, or to get back at them.'

‘Yeah, I've had a couple of those,' Sammi replied, as Bob started the car.

She had seen at least one mother encouraging a child to accuse the father of abuse. Children trusted their parents and could be easily manipulated at a young age. Sammi was appalled by what some people would do to get back at their ex.

Bob drove back down the drive out onto the highway, heading back into town.

‘That's most probably not the case here,' Bob continued, ‘but the law has to be based on fact, not emotion. There can't be one set of rules for someone you don't like and another set for people you feel sorry for. So you always need the secondary evidence.'

Sammi knew this was the same reason why previous offences weren't raised before the court until sentencing, after the person has been found guilty. Each case had to be judged on its own merits. No prejudice. But that didn't stop her frustration with the current situation.

‘Yep, Bob, I know,' she said. ‘You know too, how pissed off I am at the court system. I was hanging in limbo for a year and a half. How much harder would that be for a child? You don't realise how exhausting and all-consuming it is until you're on the other side.'

‘You got through though,' Bob replied.

But at what cost?
Sammi thought to herself.

25

The plan had been for Peter to die on Friday. A lot of thought had gone into the best way to kill him. Crime shows had been a good inspiration.
CSI
was the current favourite. But how much of it was Hollywood hype and how much was true? What could they actually find out from DNA swabs or bullet casings? This was Angel's Crossing, not Los Angeles or even Sydney.

Keeping the plan simple had been the key. Violence and mercilessness were foreign sensations but the injustice of it all grated and rubbed like sandpaper on a popped blister. In the end, the fury had become all-consuming and couldn't be quietened without action.

The plan to drug him had been the easy part. It was quiet and painless. Animal tranquillisers were not hard to come by, he had a farm after all. Then he could be disposed of into the bush somewhere where he might never be found. Everything had been thought through, all possible scenarios had been considered. It had almost seemed too easy, as if the powers that be had agreed and lent support.

It probably would have worked.

Then, without warning, everything had changed. But nothing really changed. Variations were quick and decisive.

There had been no time to work out the physics of the new, necessary plan. How high do you tie the noose? Where should the fallen chair land? There was little time for deliberation. Follow your gut. Trust your instinct.

Would anyone notice an error? Would anyone be looking?

In the end it had been like a chore. The sort of job where you ignore your squeamishness and focus on the task at hand. Like cleaning vomit out of carpet or killing a huntsman spider in your bedroom.

The word ‘murderer' did not apply. Murderers were a threat to society, must be locked away for everyone's safety. This was a community service. Many would fantasise about a course of action like this. Few had the determination to see it through.

He deserved everything he got.

26

Before they arrived at Barry's to do the death knock, Sammi pulled out her phone. ‘Let me give Gavin a quick call to check if Barry's at work. We might have to head there instead.'

‘Good idea. Then we'll take him with us to talk to Faye. Or he can do it himself if he thinks it will be better. Faye's elderly and seems fragile,' Bob said.

The phone nearly rang out before Gavin answered.

‘This isn't a great time, Sammi. I'm in the middle of a rebuild, I'm up to my elbows in grease.'

‘I'll be quick. Is Barry at work at the moment?'

‘No. He's off sick today.' Gavin paused. ‘Why?'

‘I'll explain this afternoon,' Sammi promised before hanging up.

She turned to Bob. ‘He's off sick. We'll go straight to his house.'

‘You sure you're okay to do it?' Bob said. ‘I'm happy to take over any time you don't feel comfortable.'

Sammi was grateful for the offer. Although there should be no problems doing a death knock, she couldn't trust her emotions one hundred percent.

‘I'll be fine,' Sammi said, as they drove across town. ‘I know them both. Barry's wife, Belinda, is a nurse at the hospital, so it'll be hit or miss if she's at home or not. Nice lady.'

The house was a neat brick and tile, in the newer part of town. There was a basketball hoop on the side of the driveway and the lawn was in need of a mow. Sammi was conscious of the fact that this was a potentially life-changing moment for Barry. There were many different reactions they could expect. A lot of it depended on how close he was to Peter.

Sammi knocked. An officious rat-tat-tat. She heard footsteps run to the front door and it swung open. A slim dark-haired girl turned big brown eyes up at them. Sammi had forgotten Belinda and Barry had a child. Sammi, who had arranged her face into a suitably sombre expression, attempted to turn it into a small smile for the child. She looked about six or seven years old.

The girl turned suddenly and yelled, ‘Mum!' then she ran back into the house. A small white dog ran up the hallway to take her place. It bared its teeth and barked savagely at them from a safe distance.

‘Mum! Mum!' Sammi heard the girl calling as she disappeared into a doorway. It briefly crossed her mind that today was a school day.

Belinda appeared quickly.

‘Pookie! Get back,' she roused. The dog fell silent and retreated.

Belinda's face drew tight as she saw the uniforms, then bright
ened again as she recognised Sammi.

‘Oh, it's you. Hi Sammi,' she said. If she observed their serious expressions, she chose to ignore them. ‘Sorry about Nicola. She's a bit scared of police. And Pookie thinks he's a Rottweiler.' She turned and called into the house. ‘Nici! Come say hello!' She stepped aside and ushered them forward. ‘Come in, come in.' Sammi noticed she hadn't yet asked why police were standing at her front door, but this was a job done better behind closed doors anyway.

They moved into the lounge room.

‘Nici!' Belinda called. ‘Come here and say hello.' Her tone of voice was insistent.

‘It's okay,' Sammi said. ‘We're here to . . .'

‘No, no,' Belinda cut in. ‘She needs to get over this shyness. She's met you before. She can come and say hello to you.'

The little girl scampered across from an open doorway to tuck herself in behind her mother.

‘Nici, this is Sammi and Bob. You've met Sammi before. She came to my birthday party. Her boyfriend, Gavin, works with Daddy. Do you remember her?'

Nicola took a half-step out from behind her mother to peek at Sammi.

‘I wasn't wearing my uniform the last time you saw me,' Sammi said. ‘You probably didn't even know I was a police officer.' She noticed Nicola studying the accoutrements on her belt, and casually draped her forearm across the butt of her Glock as if it was nothing more than an armrest.

Still half leaning on her mother, Nicola looked up at Sammi. She tugged at her mother's arm. Belinda bent down so the girl could whisper in her ear.

‘They're not going to put you in jail,' Belinda said, looking across at Sammi.

Sammi shook her head. ‘Of course not, sweetheart. We don't put kids in jail. We only ever put bad people in jail.'

The girl withdrew back behind her mother.

‘Come on, Nici. Just say hello, then you can go.' Belinda turned trying to draw Nicola out from behind her. The girl swung forward, whispered ‘Hello' and ran off before she had even finished the word. She disappeared back down the hallway.

‘Thanks,' Belinda said, giving Sammi a grateful smile. ‘I don't know where she gets that from. We've never told her police are going to take her away or anything. Kids can get funny ideas. Anyway, what brings you here?'

‘We were hoping to speak with Barry,' Sammi said, deliberately giving a little frown. She wanted Belinda to start picking up on the cues that it was bad news.

‘Oh.' Belinda pushed loose strands of hair back off her face. ‘He's not here. He pulled a sickie from work. He had to head down to Brisbane to see a bloke. Had to be done during business hours. He won't be back for ages.' She grimaced. ‘You won't tell his work, will you, Sammi? I don't want to get him into trouble.'

‘No,' Sammi replied. ‘That's not why we're here anyway.' She gestured to the couch. ‘Can we take a seat?'

Belinda looked intently at her and drew a deep breath. She looked like she was beginning to get the gist of why they were there.

‘We're here because we need to let Barry know that Peter has died.'

Belinda looked away, then dropped her head to her hands. She had a solid build verging on overweight. Added to this, her forearms were disproportionately large, like they belonged on a professional wrestler. Sammi reached across and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up. ‘It's okay. I'm okay. I didn't really get on with Peter to be honest. But Barry . . . I don't know about Barry . . .' She bit her bottom lip, as if scared to ask the next question. ‘What happened?'

‘Well . . .' Sammi hesitated. She had expected this question and already considered how she would answer it. ‘It appears he committed suicide. He hung himself in his shed.'

Belinda dipped her face back to her hands. She nodded slowly.

‘Have you told Faye? Their mum?' Her voice was muffled by her hands.

‘Not yet. We wanted to tell Barry first and see if he wanted to break the news to her. But since he's not here, we'll have to head over there now.' Sammi glanced over at Bob, and he nodded once in agreement.

‘I can tell Barry,' Belinda said quickly. ‘Unless you have to do it?'

‘We usually do it so that the person knows it's real and not some sort of sick joke. But we'll see his mum. I'm sure that's the first place he'll go anyway once he finds out.'

Belinda nodded. ‘You don't want me to come, do you? I'm not really close to Faye. I don't think I'd be much help.

‘No, that's fine. But are you okay?'

‘Yeah, yeah,' she said, ‘I'll let Barry know.' She got up quickly. ‘I need to explain it to Nici.'

As Sammi and Bob walked to the front door, Sammi remembered Peter's dog. She turned back to Belinda.

‘One last thing. Someone needs to look after Peter's dog. The poor thing's out there by itself. Any chance you could take it?'

Belinda shook her head. ‘Sorry. Pookie doesn't get on with other dogs. Maybe ask Faye?'

Sammi nodded. ‘Thanks anyway.'

They let themselves out.