Yesterday's Dust (12 page)

I saw my sister killed, buried there. That's the wall and that's all
.

You said that your aunt was gone for only a short period of time that day
.

I was six years old. I was watching television and I didn't wear a watch. I don't know how long she was gone
.

Do you consider it odd
that the couple who manage the two properties were not aware that Sam and May had employed this elusive gardener?

Do you tell your cleaning lady when you employ a new receptionist?

Would you leave two young girls in the care of a casual male employee, Mrs Taylor?

I don't have two girls. I don't have – Will you stop this. Please
.

Who killed Liza, Mrs Taylor?

Ann had not made another appointment,
aware that sooner or later she'd scream out the truth of that day. So May Burton was as much a victim as she, but Ann could not cure the world's ills. During the months prior to Little Ben's birth it had been hard enough to live with her own ills and Johnny's, with David's. He'd had to go to work each day. He couldn't hide at home. Such bad months, those.

They'd gone down to the inquest and survived
it, and since that call from May there had been no further contact.

Where had Jack Burton gone to after leaving Narrawee? What had he lived on? Had May given him access to Narrawee money, or had he been dead within days of leaving May? Murdered? Buried in that shallow grave?

Matthew was now four. There were twenty-two months between him and Benjamin, and she'd been in the very early stages
of pregnancy the night May had phoned. If her father had left Narrawee three months prior to May's call, then it was almost five years since he'd been sighted. Had her father returned to Mallawindy? Had Johnny seen him and –

She couldn't complete that question.

Johnny hated him. Always had. The day he'd left home he'd attacked him. Ellie had pulled him off, dragged the weapon from his hand.

I'll call May tomorrow, she thought as she walked down the hall to Mandy's room. Tomorrow. Or maybe . . . maybe it would be better not to start it up all over again.

She stripped to briefs and bra and slid beneath the light quilt. The pillow was too flat. She shook it up and tucked it beneath her head.

Tomorrow.

No. She'd call Ben tomorrow. That's what she'd do. See if May had received his message,
returned his call. If he hadn't heard, she'd give Ben the Toorak number. Yes. She rolled onto her side. That was the way to go. Call Ben. Leave it to reliable Ben.

He'd wiped Jack Burton from his mind, his life, twenty years ago. They'd lived in the same town, but never spoken. Always stronger than he'd looked, was Ben. He'd got up on the dance floor tonight with Bron, and then with the bridesmaids.
Lucky, lucky Ben, no secrets to hold him to the past. Lucky Bron too. All of those lucky people who didn't have to live with lies.

Poor Johnny. It was her fault. Poor mixed-up Johnny.

She rolled onto her back again, pulling the quilt high.

Scent of Mandy in this quilt, in this room. Soft golden curls and
blue, blue eyes. Perfect baby limbs. Swim like a fish. Climb like a monkey. So full of
love, there had been no room for fear in sweet Mandy.

Mummy, what work does bees do?

Mummy, why does Tiddy have got one, two, free, four legs and a tail?

Mummy, can them stars all fall down sometimes and hit my head?

‘Shush, baby,' she said. ‘Sleep now. Mummy's here. Sleepy-bye time.'

The birds had gathered in the trees across the road to sing their early morning song before she slept, but
small boys do not sleep late.

Sunday 10 August

Jeff Rowan, in full uniform, knocked at Ben's front door on Sunday morning. Police work didn't allow for a day of rest, and these days he had work to do.

‘I've got to get you down to Daree this morning, Mrs B, or they'll be up here looking for you,' he said when Ellie peered through a narrow gap.

‘I'm going to church,
and I'm late,' Ellie spoke around two long, fine hairpins. She had dressed hurriedly, having slept like a log last night, and without the aid of Bessy's pill. The boys hadn't woken her when they'd left to do the milking. She glanced beyond the lawman to the clouds, black with rain, her fingers twisting a single plait into a convoluted topknot, pinning it high while holding the door wide with
her foot. ‘It feels too cold to rain, doesn't it?' she said.

Jeff shrugged, watched her hands. The topknot seemed to weigh heavier today. ‘So, what time will you be through, Mrs B?'

‘I'll be home by twelve.'

‘I'll pick you up at twelve then.'

‘No thank you, Jeff.'

‘Look, I'm not my own boss here, you know, Mrs B. I've been told to get you down there and it's no good trying to put off the
inevitable. You've got to go and talk to them, like it or not. I'll give Daree a call and tell them I'll have you there at half-past twelve.'

‘Bessy will drive me down. She was going to take me tomorrow anyway. I can't see why they can't wait until tomorrow. It's not Jack
they've found.'

‘Well, let's hope your right, if . . . if that's what you're hoping. I'll talk to you again after church.'

Only a handful of people had braved the chill this morning, and Father Fogarty wasn't at his best. He was getting too old for it, Ellie thought. Bessy wasn't at her best either, which might teach her not to drink wine. She'd taken two aspros before they'd left for church. She took two more before they left for Daree, and two more when she got there. And after all that, the police wouldn't let
her into the interview room.

They closed the door on Bessy then offered Ellie a glass of water. She drank most of it before allowing herself a brief, fearful glance at the three men who had followed her into the room. Only one was dressed like a policeman. The other two were probably the men from Sydney. They wore ordinary clothes, but they looked like Sydney police – or like Sydney police looked
on the television shows she liked to watch.

Unaware that she never responded to any given situation without permission, most of their questions had to be asked twice before she'd offer a nodded yes, or a head-shaking no. She murmured a few times, ‘I'm sure I don't know, officer.' Then the taller one stood, so Ellie stood and smiled, believing the interview was at its end.

But he took up a box,
and from the box he removed two plastic-wrapped parcels.

Ellie had always loathed having her soiled linen aired in public places, but these men were flaunting some of it. They showed her a pair of underpants, sealed in plastic. They were Bonds, but the size had worn away. They could have been Jack's. She blushed a deep pink and she sat again.

They showed her a sock in a matching plastic bag.
Her mouth fell open and her heavy lidded eyes grew wide with disbelief. The sock was black, if impregnated with red earth. She reached out a hand to take it, then quickly drew the hand back.

‘Jack always wore woollen socks. Nylon made his feet sweat. He always wore pure woollen socks.'

‘It's pure wool, Mrs Burton. Probably Holeproof.'

Jack had liked Holeproof socks. They were expensive and
he'd liked expensive things. She stared at the sock as she shrank low in her chair, her hand reaching for her apron pocket. No apron. No pocket today. She opened her handbag to touch her rosary beads, then, to prove she had another reason for opening her bag, removed a handkerchief. Her chin down, she closed her eyes and moved away to the side of her chair, twisting her handkerchief corner, unable
to meet the eyes of the watching men. When they started again with their questions, her eyes remained down as slowly she told of the night it had all begun.

‘Annie and Bronwyn drove down when they heard about the police finding Liza's body. Then later on, after we'd had something to eat, Bronwyn went over to Mr Fletcher's, our neighbour's house, to phone Nick, her husband. Since yesterday. They
got married yesterday. Down here. In Daree. Nick's family live in Daree.'

‘Bronwyn is your youngest daughter, Mrs Burton?'

‘Yes. Well, Jack came home while Bronwyn was over there phoning. He got a lift home with Jeff, our policeman. Jack and Annie got into an argument, so I went outside to stand on the verandah.'

‘A heated argument, Mrs Burton?'

‘No, it was . . . was just . . . normal. For
them. They were always arguing when they got together, which wasn't very often, thank goodness. I used to tell her not to argue, but Annie always had a mind of her own. Too much alike, they were, they never got along.' She wiped at her mouth with her handkerchief, glanced up, then back down to her handbag.

‘So they argued.'

‘Yes.'

‘And . . .?'

‘Then this other car came driving up and I went
out to the yard
to see who it was, and then the house lights went off. I thought it was the lightning. There was thunder rolling around for hours that night. Anyway, I thought it had struck a power pole. It often happens and we get cut off for hours.'

‘The car . . .?'

‘It was Johnny and David. Annie's husband. I didn't recognise them in the dark until David spoke. You could have knocked me down
with a feather when I saw Johnny. I was so pleased to see him. He hadn't been home in years and years, you see. We just . . .' Her hand shook as she picked up the glass of water. She drank in gulps.

‘If you could continue, Mrs Burton.'

‘Well, we sort of didn't come in for a while. Then we came inside and I started looking for candles in the sideboard. I always keep candles. It was David who
noticed that Mr Fletcher's lights were still on, so he checked the fuse box, and he found out the lights had been turned off at the main. So we turned all the lights back on.'

‘Your daughter and husband? Where were they at this time, Mrs Burton?'

‘We didn't know where they were. Then I noticed that Jack's gun was gone.' She swallowed, considered the glass of water. It was empty. ‘We started
looking for them, calling out for them. Outside. We looked everywhere. Bronwyn came back, and Mr Fletcher came after her. We all called to Annie and Jack. Then Bronwyn ran over to Bessy's place, over Ben's bridge. They weren't over there. A bit later the rain came pelting down and I went back inside, and after a while the others came in. The rain was like thunder on the roof and we could hardly hear
ourselves talking. Then Annie just came walking into the kitchen looking like a drowned rat, her hair plastered to her head, dress plastered to her back. I asked her where her father was, and she said, “Gone”.'

‘I went out to the verandah and called to him again, and Annie picked up her purse and went out to her car. David yelled at Annie to get out of the rain. I thought she'd gone to get something
from
the car. She had Jack's briefcase in her boot, you see. The next thing I know, David is running off to his car because Annie is driving away.'

‘He was gone about an hour, but he came back. Said he followed her, but lost her car down some track near the river. He said he nearly got bogged, his wheels were slipping and sliding in the mud. Those old tracks down near the river get very greasy
in the rain.' For minutes Ellie sat unmoving, her green eyes dripping tears onto her lap. When the question came again, she shook her head, sprinkling her tears. ‘I don't know anything else I can tell you, officers.'

‘Mrs Taylor did not return to the house that night.'

‘No. We waited for her. After David came back we all waited for about an hour. Mr Fletcher was there too. We all had a cup of
tea and some Christmas cake, sort of expecting Jack to come back any minute. Then David drove home, because we thought that Annie must have gone home. To Warran. They live in Warran. David gave Mr Fletcher a lift over to his house. It was still raining. It rained all night. Johnny and Bronwyn and I sat up talking until after twelve. I hadn't seen him in over twenty years and he said to me that night
that the best part of coming home was my Christmas cake. He's a priest, you know. Was a priest, that is. I'm sure he'll go back to the church one day. When he's ready.'

They nodded, waited.

‘Well.' She shrugged. ‘I was still thinking Jack would come back, and him and Johnny might – ' She swallowed, delved into her handbag for her rosary beads and the hand remained in the bag as she continued.
‘I put clean sheets on the spare beds and we all went to bed. And that's all I know.'

‘You didn't report your husband missing for some months, Mrs Burton.'

‘But that would have been silly, knowing Jack. I mean, he was always away. Anyone in town will tell you that. It would have been silly to report him missing. I didn't know that he was missing.'

‘Can you explain?'

‘I mean . . . it's his
family. They live in Victoria. At Narrawee. Where they found Liza. He used to spend as much time down there as he did in Mallawindy, you see. He hated Mallawindy, so I thought he'd just gone down there again.'

‘You believed he'd gone without his car?'

‘Yes, but I didn't know about the car until the next day. I told you, Jeff Rowan had driven him home that night because Jack had got into an argument
with Mr Owen. I didn't know that his car was still up at the hotel until Benjie came home from his trip and he said that the car was still up at the town.

‘We thought that was a bit strange, but then Jack never did drive when he'd been on the whisky. I thought he'd probably got a lift down to Melbourne with someone. He'd done that before, and there were a lot of strangers in Mallawindy that night
– newspaper people and television people. They wanted to know about Liza. He'd been drinking with them at the hotel before he came home. He said they'd wanted to pay him to go on the television. I thought . . . thought they'd probably given him a lift down to do an interview. We watched the television for a few days, but he wasn't on it.'

She'd worn a hole in her handkerchief. Her finger poked
through it now, and she studied the broken nail, the sandpaper skin. Terrible. She snatched her finger out and shrank lower in her chair.

‘Bessy will be getting tired of waiting for me. We've got cows.'

She needed Bessy. She'd leaned on her all her life. Bessy had been nineteen when their mother died, and she'd stepped in, taken her mother's place. Ellie had never been able to lean on Jack.
Jack had been her handsome prince who had come riding along on his borrowed bicycle that afternoon. A prince wasn't expected to get his hands dirty in a cow yard, wasn't expected to behave like . . .

But he had worn Bonds briefs and black woollen socks.

‘He was wearing his best grey trousers and a white shirt,' she said. ‘And he had a good watch. Very expensive. He always wore his watch. It
was silver and gold, sort of woven together. Very
heavy. Sam and May bought it for him not long before he disappeared. And he would have had his wallet with his licence. He always carried his licence and his cards. His bank account cards. They'd still be there. Plastic lasts forever.'

‘Nothing else has been found, Mrs Burton.'

‘He lived up in Sydney for twelve months after little Linda died.'
Her chin trembled. ‘We lost three of our babies.' She glanced at the desk where the sock and underpants lay and she shuddered, looked away. ‘He had a very hard life, officers. He should have inherited half of Narrawee, but his father disowned him, you see. Sam and May got the property and the money, though they did try to make it up to Jack. They were always buying him things. Very good to us, they
were.

‘They paid for little Liza's funeral and bought her a lovely stone – with the other children's names on top.' She looked at the men as she drank again from her refilled glass. ‘Everything just went on and on. I wrote to Narrawee to ask about Jack, but May said he wasn't there, so I thought he'd gone to Sydney, and that he'd come home when he was ready, like he always did. Then about six
months after he left, Benjie got Jeff Rowan to check on the bank accounts, and Jeff found out that Jack hadn't been withdrawing any of his money. Not since the day before Christmas. So that's when . . . when we reported him . . . missing.'

She stilled her tongue but not her fingers. Her handkerchief was now almost in two pieces. She attempted to hide it, balling it in her hand. Her mouth open,
her eyes wandered the room, eager to find escape from these men. She scanned the floorboards and the bruised legs of the desk, the walls. Hard plaster. Grey. Rough. She looked at the ceiling. Yellow. Smoke stained.