The morning of the inquiry broke hot and still. Aimee pulled dress after dress over her head, rejecting them all. The black was too funereal. The coral floral too cheerful. And she was still far too fat for the red and white; it made her look like a beach ball, the way the stripes widened around her middle. Not that anyone would care what she was wearing. By the time she’d spoken, Aimee’s waistline would be the last thing anybody was thinking about, including Aimee.
We shouldn’t even be having an inquiry, Melinda thought as she pulled on one of her ‘approachable’ wrap dresses. If there was a chance she was going to be outed as a murderer, then she wanted to look like a nice one. Melinda had spent all weekend on the ATSB website, and there was no precedent for this. The bureau released most of its reports online, with maybe a small press briefing in high-profile cases. But Hensley Council had got involved, insisted on a public flogging in the town hall. Evidence would be raked over, witnesses called. The community needed answers, apparently. That was the problem with living in a country town — everyone cared a bit too much.
Lou’s first thought was to wear a pair of jeans. The inquiry was all Rex’s idea — a chance for the mayor to show his caring side, while demonstrating that he had the power to boss a federal agency around. She wasn’t dressing up for that fucker. But her hands went instead to the expensive crepe she’d bought for her birthday. She pulled it out; there was only a small grass stain, and most of the creases were at the back. It looked respectful, that was the main thing. Lou didn’t have to go to the inquiry now she was no longer staff. She was choosing to, out of respect, for Pete, for Lincoln — the father of her daughter’s baby, after all — and for Tansy herself. Lou tugged at the front of her dress, tried to pull it higher over her boobs. And Melinda; she was going to remind Melinda that she needed to pay up.
‘You feeling okay?’ Nick glanced sideways at Aimee as he drove, the first vaguely caring words he’d spoken to her in three days. She allowed a small balloon of hope to rise in her chest, then remembered he’d be a lot less caring by the afternoon.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, aware of the kids in the back. She hadn’t wanted them to come, but Nick insisted. A learning experience, he’d argued the night before. Good for them to see local government in action. This morning, he’d decided they needed to attend for emotional reasons. ‘They’ve been affected by this as well, Aimee.’ But really, he was worried about leaving them alone. The scene by the river with Cameron had rattled him too. He just wouldn’t admit it.
Aimee looked back at Byron, glued to his iPad, at Shelley already texting. Would she be able to go through with it, in front of them? It might have to be part of their learning experience. Aimee pushed down visions of her children in therapy, suffering PTSD as a result of watching their mother torn apart by a baying mob. Only vocally, she hoped. Although emotions were running high; anything was possible.
The town hall was almost full by the time Melinda arrived, with seats set out to the wall on both sides.
‘We’re expecting nearly five hundred,’ Sharna reported as she walked Melinda down the narrow central aisle, as though she was an usher, as though this was a Broadway show. ‘Television cameras too.’
Melinda’s dad was already there, seated near the back. ‘Somewhere in the middle please, Sharna,’ Melinda said, eyes firmly forward. People were looking at her funny, or was that her imagination? God, she was going to end up as paranoid as —
‘Oh, but you’ll want to be near your friends.’ The postmistress kept walking and Melinda had no choice but to follow. Aimee was three rows from the front, where a small desk and microphone had been set up. ‘I saved you girls a row.’
‘There’s no need —’
But Sharna had her arm, was making people move as she guided Melinda towards her angry cousin. ‘Here you go, Aimee. Look who I’ve got for you.’
‘I’m not sitting next to her,’ Aimee said flatly. Because she wasn’t.
‘Well, you can swap with Nick then,’ said Sharna, who didn’t seem overly surprised.
‘No.’ Aimee, Melinda and Nick spoke as one.
‘Well then, you two can move over, and Lou can sit in the middle.’ Sharna was already waving at Lou, who was walking in with a tired-looking Tansy. Aimee did a double take; was she wearing a cocktail dress?
‘Sorry,’ said Melinda, ‘but I’m not sitting next to Lou.’
The seven of them stood there, waiting for Sharna to sort their mess out. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Who doesn’t care who they sit next to?’ The children raised their hands. As Sharna moved them around like human chess pieces, Aimee could see her hiding a smile. ‘Everyone happy? Good.’ Although no one was happy, a blind man could see that.
Pete sat rigid in his front-row seat, Cameron an angry sentry next to him. He could feel the anticipation of the crowd behind them, as though they were waiting for a footy match to kick off. There’d been a few campaigns, Cameron had told him. Justice for Lincoln, a collection for some kind of memorial. All for a boy who hadn’t lived among them since he was seven. But the people of Hensley prided themselves on being a tight community. It was one of the reasons Pete had moved; life had begun to feel claustrophobic. Reprimanding pupils in the morning, then having to answer to their parents in the supermarket or the pub or even the street later on. There was also a sense of entitlement in Hensley that he hadn’t wanted his own kids growing up with. This idea that they were luckier than other people. Although look how Pete’s own luck had changed, almost as soon as they’d left town.
‘Should we make a break for it?’ Cameron murmured in his ear. ‘I’ll distract them, you start the car.’
Pete gave a quiet laugh, despite himself. But Cameron was right. Hensley wanted blood.
Lou tugged at her dress as she took her assigned seat at the end of the row. Next to Tansy, who was chatting away happily to Melinda, who sat beside a scowling Byron, who was pointedly ignoring a grim-faced Nick — wow, that was quite a lump on his forehead — who had surprisingly elected not to sit next to Aimee, who just looked exhausted. Between them, Shelley was texting. Lou’s closest friends, and none of them had even said hello. She pulled out her phone, fiddled around with the banking app she’d downloaded. Your money in real time. But her money still wasn’t there. She looked over at Melinda, who was pretending not to watch her. There were maybe two hours, Lou reckoned, before her threats lost their power. She moved her bag onto her lap and opened it so Melinda would know she meant business.
Lou had brought the report with her. Melinda swallowed down a little ball of sick and tried to listen to what Tansy was saying about the pram she wanted to buy. Now that she knew, her brother’s involvement was obvious. Tansy had her mother’s lips, Matthew’s slouch, Melinda’s attitude. I’ve always liked her, she thought, trying to ignore the stack of papers in Lou’s lap. They’d had fun during Tansy’s driving lessons; Melinda would have enjoyed being an aunty. Which was never going to happen now. Tansy paused for breath and Melinda quickly leaned across her.
‘I’ve sent it,’ she said quietly.
‘Then where is it?’ asked Lou. She held up her phone, and Melinda winced. God, was that what they were living on? No wonder Lou was angry. But she kept her face impassive.
‘It’s coming,’ she said. ‘Hang fire.’
Aimee tried to ignore the faint electrical pulsing in her head as a council worker fumbled with the microphone. She’d started taking her pills again, had swallowed the first only a few hours after they’d rescued Byron. Which was a rescue, thank you very much. She could see Cameron two rows in front, feet sprawled wide with no regard for anyone else. Aimee glared at him, feeling the slight zap of her brain chemicals recalibrating. Life in her lovely house had become something to be endured. Byron still wasn’t really speaking to her; Shelley seemed wary, while Nick had spent the weekend acting as though she didn’t exist. Taking the kids off on errands, leaving her at home to talk to the cat. At least Oscar had stopped crapping everywhere — the only thing that was going right. That and the fact that the pills seemed to be working already. Aimee usually hated being medicated, worried the drugs would make her numb, but at the moment, numb sounded ideal.
Melinda sat upright as the mayor approached the microphone. There were an awful lot of journalists, but then the story had attracted national attention. She could understand why: a dead child, a father in the frame, a small community devastated by tragedy. Melinda risked a glance over her shoulder to where the press had been corralled behind the kitchen serving hatch. The photographers starting clicking the moment she turned around.
‘Welcome, everyone,’ said the mayor. ‘Thank you for taking the time to join us this morning.’
Melinda’s phone went off, and people turned to stare.
‘If you could please silence your mobile phones.’
The ring tone grew louder as Melinda fumbled in her bag. Louder still as she finally felt the smooth edges, flicked the little button to make it stop. She slipped the phone into her lap, not taking her eyes off the podium. The whole room was watching her now.
‘We’re here today to witness a public inquiry into the New Year’s Eve crash of a private plane into the ranges alongside the Hensley–Meadowcroft Road, an area known to most of us as Maddocks Clearing. A crash that claimed the life of sixteen-year-old Lincoln Kasprowicz.’
The phone in Melinda’s lap was vibrating, trying to attract her attention, but it couldn’t have it. Melinda kept staring at Rex, nodding to show how seriously she was taking everything.
‘I’d like to hand over to the ATSB officer who has been leading the investigation, Steven Birch.’
The two men shook hands; there was an explosion of camera flashes from the kitchen serving hatch. Melinda felt her stomach lurch. Here we go, she thought, as she laced her fingers together to stop herself from checking her phone. Here we go.