Coopers Creek was a metropolis compared to Midgiburra, but even so, it really wasn’t that much bigger. It did, however, boast a small rural hospital as well as a library and some community outreach programs, so for all intents and purposes it was quite the hub.
Pip had ordered some research material, and her city library had agreed to send it through to Coopers Creek. She’d been meaning to drive over this way and check out the next town over from Midgiburra but until now hadn’t had the opportunity to do so.
She parked the car once she’d located the library, which was set back from the road in the middle of a well-tended park. Pip took in the green grass and bright flowerbeds and wondered if the rate payers minded that the council was clearly not under the same water restrictions as the rest of the district.
She could see why they tried to keep it so nice—it had to lift the town’s spirits. With everything for miles around brown and dead, this was a little oasis of life. If she lived here and had children, she thought suddenly as she stopped to admire a bed of roses, she would bring them down here just so they knew what green grass looked like. With the drought going into its third year, there would be young children who may have never seen anything other than this depressing, dry landscape. It made her sad to think about it.
It was the topic every conversation eventually came around to. When it rains … It’s gotta rain soon … Pip wondered at the mental strength it must take these people to wake up each day in the hopes of seeing clouds in the sky—and to keep going through the day when there weren’t.
That’s another story I could write. The thought popped into her head but quickly left again. She wasn’t out here looking for stories.
On her drive back into Midgiburra, her gaze fell on the sign outside a tired old brick building: Shady Acres Nursing Home. Her hands momentarily tightened on the steering wheel and, with a muttered curse, she turned into the driveway and found a spot in the carpark at the front. It had been a week since Anne’s visit and, until now, Pip hadn’t allowed herself to act on it.
‘This is stupid,’ she said out loud as she stared through the front windscreen at the building before her. ‘It’s not going to achieve anything.’ With a frustrated sigh, she pushed open her door and stepped out then slammed the door shut behind her. She didn’t even know why she was here. She didn’t have to be. No one was making her, and yet deep down she knew she wasn’t going to be able to shake Anne’s comment about making up her mind without even meeting the man.
Pip hated nursing homes. She remembered a childhood visit to her great-grandmother in a nursing home—the smell of urine and bleach had almost knocked her off her feet. It had been a dark, morbid kind of place. They had at least improved a bit since then, though. These days the rooms were bigger and well-furnished and usually painted nice bright colours to cheer the place up and make it feel more like a home rather than a hospital.
As she walked into the foyer, there was no one around and she was instantly relieved. At least she’d tried, she thought, coming up with a defence in case she needed to use it with Anne.
‘Can I help you?’ a voice called as she started walking towards the front door, and Pip closed her eyes and mouthed a silent swear word.
‘Hi,’ she said, turning and putting a friendly smile on her face. ‘I was just stopping in to visit someone, but I can come back another day.’
‘You’re more than welcome to visit today. It’s a bit quiet around here at the moment—it’s outing day. Who did you want to visit?’ asked the young woman dressed in an admin uniform.
‘Herbert Bigsby,’ Pip said quickly, waiting for some kind of dramatic reaction.
‘I’m new here, so I’ll just have to check the room number,’ the woman said. A few moments later she looked up from the computer behind the desk. ‘Room 12B.’ She pointed the direction out and Pip thanked her with a quick smile before hurrying down the long carpeted hall.
Outside the room, Pip once more had the urge to turn around and leave, but something kept pushing her on. Feeling as if she were mentally digging in her heels but still skidding forward, she eventually gave up and knocked on the partially opened door.
Inside Pip could hear voices, and when she carefully poked her head around the side of the door, she saw a man in a hospital bed with the sides pulled up and two nursing assistants sitting on the chairs, their backs to the patient, chatting and laughing. As Pip went to excuse herself, the women jumped up and moved the chairs back into position before fussing about the room.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘Nah, it’s all good. Who were you looking for?’
‘Ah, Mr Bigsby, actually.’
‘What? Really?’ The two women looked at her wearing varying expressions of disbelief. ‘You a relation?’
‘No, not exactly,’ she started cautiously, but found something about the women’s mannerisms annoying.
‘No one ever visits old Butcher here,’ the older of the two women said.
Pip frowned and her glare hardened on the woman. ‘His name’s Bert,’ she snapped.
‘Been Butcher for as long as I’ve been alive. That’s all anyone’s ever called him.’
‘I think he deserves a little more respect than that as a patient,’ Pip pointed out, eyeing the woman, who had lost her smirk and was now regarding Pip suspiciously.
‘You’re that reporter,’ the woman finally stated. ‘Are you doing some kind of story on him or something?’
‘I’m just here to visit.’
The other woman gave a small scoff. ‘You wrote that piece about corruption or something, didn’t you? What are you digging about around here for?’
‘I’m not digging around for anything.’
‘Well, good luck getting anything out of him,’ she said, nodding towards the bed.
‘I hope I’m not holding either of you up from doing anything in here?’ she asked pointedly.
‘Nah,’ the first woman stepped in. ‘We were just leaving.’
Pip stared after the two women. They were clearly using Bert’s room as a quiet place to take a break—most likely an unauthorised one, judging by the guilty response when she’d first walked in—and this idea filled Pip with indignant outrage on Bert’s behalf.
She would deal with the women later. Now, though, she found herself alone with Bert, and she knew there was no turning back.
Bert Bigsby was just as she imagined a ninety-eight-year-old man to be. His hair was wispy and white, and his skin, once probably hard and callused like Pete’s from working a farm, was now thin and splotchy. He was asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing slightly raspy, and just as Pip was again wondering what had possessed her to stop by, he opened his eyes. She felt like a doe trapped in headlights. She could hardly run now—but would this man appreciate a stranger suddenly appearing in his room? Putting on her best journo persona, she decided that if this was a story to look into, then she’d treat it like one.
‘Hello, Mr Bigsby,’ she said, taking a step closer to the bed. ‘My name’s Phillipa Davenport. My uncle bought your farm and I’m currently staying out there.’
His eyes followed her, but there seemed little expression in them and his face remained blank. ‘Anne, your next-door neighbour, asked me to stop by. I think she’s a bit worried after the police came to see you. I’m very sorry about your wife.’
There was no change in his expression—his mouth remained slightly turned down but his eyes were alive. At the mention of his wife, they seemed to open slightly and grow more alert. Anne had told her that Bert had suffered a stroke, but Pip wasn’t sure how she was supposed to communicate. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to? Clearly Anne had wanted her to simply see Bert, maybe hoping that once she understood how vulnerable the man was it would change her mind about helping to clear Bert’s name.
Something changed inside Pip in that instant. She knew what it was like to feel defenceless. Her mind flashed back to the night of her attack and the feeling of despair that had overwhelmed her when she’d opened her mouth to scream but found she couldn’t. She also knew what it was like to have the ability to speak taken away. A flash of a hospital bed and doctors talking across her as she frantically clawed at her bandaged throat momentarily made her feel dizzy.
Pip glanced around the room, to distract herself from the memories. There were no photos or knick-knacks, nothing that made this space feel like home. It felt more like a cold hospital room.
‘I’m not sure if Anne mentioned I was a journalist?’ she explained carefully. ‘I guess she thought that maybe I could take a look at the story—at what happened,’ she corrected quickly and cursed herself for the slip of the tongue. This was a man’s life, not just a story. ‘Although I’m just not sure how she thinks I’m going to help,’ she said as her voice petered out under Bert’s intense gaze. ‘Anne believes you had nothing to do with your wife’s disappearance, and now that they’ve found her, found Molly, the police should be able to determine what really happened. I think Anne hopes that we can look into it some more and try to clear your name once and for all.’
At this, Bert seemed to become agitated—his eyes moved from side to side and there was a faint sound in his throat like a muted grunt. Pip could see he was trying to communicate. Gently she placed a hand on his shoulder and his gaze settled on her once more. ‘I can imagine how frustrating this must be for you,’ she said quietly. It had to be hell: unable to move, unable to speak and make people understand what it was you needed. She could feel the man’s frustration burning through his intense gaze, but she had no idea what it was he wanted to tell her.
Tentatively, she suggested blinking—once for yes, twice for no. ‘Do you understand, Bert?’ For a long moment he continued to stare at her, and Pip felt her hopes begin to fade, then he slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. It seemed to take considerable effort for him to do it, and she feared this wasn’t going to be an effective form of communication for very long. ‘Are you worried about the investigation?’
Slowly he closed his eyes once more and opened them. Hope began to flare inside her at this latest discovery, and she dragged a chair across to the bedside.
‘I understand that there wasn’t a lot to go on about Molly’s disappearance before, but now that they’ve found her, I think there could be some leads the police can follow to work out what happened.’ She paused then continued carefully. ‘You understand that means they’ll uncover the truth … whatever that entails.’ She could only hope that he understood that if he was connected to any of it, he wouldn’t be able to hide. The evidence might be irrefutable rather than just local gossip and innuendo. ‘Did you have anything to do with Vernon Clements’ death?’ she asked calmly.
His eyes closed, and Pip waited. He opened them and closed them a second time, and she slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. No. And just like that, her gut instinct kicked in. She believed him. There was nothing more than a feeling, but it was certain and she had learned long ago she to trust it.
‘Bert, do you believe Molly’s death was connected to Vernon Clements’ murder?’
He closed his eyes slowly.
‘Did you put Molly’s body in the dam?’
Two slow blinks.
‘Anne has some of your belongings in storage—photos and letters,’ she said gently. ‘Would it be all right if she lent them to me to have a look through?’
His eyes closed once.
‘It’s going to be all right, Bert. We’ll work out what happened to Molly.’
His gaze didn’t seem as agitated as before—maybe he still couldn’t say everything he wanted to say, but at least he had a way to participate in a conversation. He seemed weary all of a sudden, and Pip imagined it must have taken a tremendous amount of concentration and effort. ‘It’s okay, Bert. You rest now.’
She waited until he closed his eyes before leaving, feeling strangely guilty, as though she were abandoning him.
As she neared the foyer, she stopped. She wasn’t sure how much help she could really be to this investigation, but what she could do was stand up and speak for Bert and his rights.
‘Hello,’ her helpful admin woman said as she looked up and recognised Pip.
‘I need to speak to someone about Mr Bigsby.’
‘Oh … um, well, who do you want to speak with?’
‘Does he have a doctor?’
‘Our doctors aren’t here until rounds later on this afternoon.’
‘Then the nursing-home director,’ she said, and the woman hesitantly reached for the phone on her desk.
Pip drummed her fingers on the desk as she waited, listening to the timid voice on her end saying ‘Yes’, ‘I understand’ and ‘Sorry’ several times before she replaced the phone and looked up at Pip anxiously. ‘Mr Newman will be out shortly,’ she said, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.
Just then, a man wearing a grey suit opened a door behind the front desk area and came through, looking somewhat distracted as he smoothed his tie before coming to a stop before her. ‘Andrew Newman,’ he introduced himself briskly, not hiding how inconvenient he considered this interruption.
‘I’ve just been in visiting Mr Bigsby,’ Pip started as the man looked at her expectantly. ‘I’m concerned about the lack of respect I just witnessed from two of your staff towards him.’
‘Excuse me?’ the director said, then tilted his head and frowned. ‘I’m sorry, are you a family member?’
‘I’m a family friend,’ she continued, figuring the small stretch was acceptable under these conditions.
‘My staff always treat every resident they attend with the utmost respect.’
Pip’s eyes narrowed and she saw the man straighten a little. ‘I’d appreciate it if you had a word to your staff about how they address their patients. I’d hate to find there was some kind of prejudice being demonstrated in this facility. If Mr Bigsby’s solicitor were to become involved in the matter, it wouldn’t garner very favourable publicity.’
The director puffed out his chest and glared at her. ‘I have no idea what you’re suggesting.’
‘I walked into that room and there were two nurses’ aides sitting about doing nothing but talking about their weekend, completely ignoring the patient. If you’ve got people here trained to provide health care to vulnerable patients and are not, simply because of who this patient is, then that’s a serious concern.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Bigsby is treated no different to any other patient here.’
‘Really? These women addressed him by a very derogative name.’
‘If that’s true then I will look into it.’
‘I’d appreciate it. Oh, and you will be seeing me around here more often,’ she added, pushing away from the front desk. ‘I’m a journalist with the Daily Metro and I’ll be doing a story on Mr Bigsby,’ she said, walking away.
As she walked she felt her steps falter a little. What the hell had she just gone and done? She hadn’t even decided she was going to write Bert’s story until it just slipped out then. But she knew that her fate had been sealed when she heard those women call Bert the Butcher. Her anger only grew the more she thought about how isolated and lonely Bert must feel—trapped inside a body that no longer moved, unable to speak or defend himself, instead forced to lie there and listen to those women laugh and gossip, ignoring their duty of care.
Was it neglect simply because of Bert’s reputation? Pip certainly had heard enough around town to recognise genuine unrest about the situation. The disappearance of Molly Bigsby and murder of Vernon Clements may have happened seventy years ago, but it still had the power to incite an uproar. There was clearly a reason Bert had become a recluse—his personal safety.
Whether or not he was guilty, Pip could not abide someone being treated like a neglected animal. She had to get involved.
If she found out Bert had killed his wife as well as Clements then he would be acknowledged as guilty and everyone could go about their business. But if he wasn’t responsible for these crimes, it would mean the entire town had made the life of an innocent man pure hell for the past seventy years.
She hesitated as she reached the front door, thinking of Bert. What if today’s incident was only the tip of the iceberg? What if Bert was subjected to even worse kinds of neglect or even abuse in here? He was unable to communicate and rarely had visitors, so how would he ask for help? Shaking her head, she turned around and retraced her steps to Bert’s room. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it if she didn’t find out.
She sat down on a hard plastic chair by the side of the bed and waited. Bert’s eyes opened shortly after and Pip managed a small smile.
‘Bert, do the staff treat you okay here?’ she asked quietly and waited as he blinked slowly in acknowledgement. ‘It’s okay to tell me if they aren’t. I can help you.’
Bert only stared at her, and she realised she needed to make things a yes or no answer. ‘Do you need me to step in and do something about the staff here?’
Slowly he gave two blinks.
‘I heard the way they addressed you and I suspect they don’t often show a great deal of respect when they’re caring for you. You don’t have to put up with that. I can follow this up if you want me to?’
The watery, pale eyes seemed to momentarily stare through her, as though he’d drifted off, before he refocused on her and blinked twice.
Pip paused for a moment before nodding. ‘Okay. Go back to sleep,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’
Pip hadn’t seen any signs of neglect or mistreatment, though she got the impression he was simply resigned to living with the disrespect because it simply wasn’t worth the hassle of complaining. This annoyed her even more because the people who treated him badly would get away with it. She knew that this really wasn’t any of her business—she wasn’t family—but who else did Bert have? He was defenceless, unable to move or communicate, and spent his days knowing that pretty much everyone around here hated him. What a terrible way for anyone to live out their last years.
A movement at the doorway made her look over.
‘We meet again,’ Erik said, his legs braced apart, his arms folded in typical cop fashion. She searched his face for any lingering animosity left over from their last exchange but was relieved to find nothing except a tiny glint of amusement.
‘Are you here to speak with Bert about Molly?’ she asked. ‘He’s just gone to sleep.’
‘Actually, I’m here to speak with you.’
Pip lifted one eyebrow in surprise.
‘Andrew Newman called to report an incident.’
‘Did he now?’ Pip said, settling back in her chair and crossing her legs.
‘He’s asked that you be escorted from the premises.’
‘He’s what?’ she demanded, getting to her feet. That little weasel.
‘You can’t come in here throwing around threats about patient care and think they’ll just let it slide.’
‘I simply brought up the fact that his staff were being disrespectful to a resident.’
‘I’m not here to get involved with all that—I’m just here to ask you to leave peacefully.’
‘Are you serious? You’re really kicking me out?’
‘Look, for the sake of keeping the peace, I’m simply asking you to wrap up today’s visit. Now.’ When she continued to glare at him, he gave a small sigh. ‘Let’s not make this a thing.’
She watched him for a moment. She had to admit, the big policeman had spiked her interest, and there was no denying she found him attractive, but their last few encounters had left her feeling a little irritated. And what was going down right now was only adding to it. Sure, he might only be doing his job, but he hadn’t made any secret of the fact that he wasn’t a fan of journalists. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting just a little too much enjoyment out of the situation. She knew that unless she wanted to cause a scene, she had no other option but to admit defeat. ‘Fine,’ she said gritting her teeth.
Erik stepped aside to indicate she should walk ahead of him, and Pip narrowed her eyes.
‘If I don’t go, what are you going to do—handcuff me?’
‘You want me to handcuff you?’ he asked with a grin.
‘In your dreams,’ Pip muttered as she walked past. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I thought you journos knew how to deal with people?’
‘Apparently we rub some people the wrong way,’ she mumbled as she walked out the door and Erik fell into step beside her.
‘Yeah, well, not everyone handles threats well.’
‘I didn’t threaten him.’
‘He implied you were going to go public with, and I quote, “untruths”,’ he said. ‘Did you say that?’
‘I may have mentioned I wrote for the Daily Metro, but I also told him I was here to write Bert’s story.’
‘You’re a smart woman, Pip. You should know by now you can’t go around poking bears without expecting them to react.’
‘All I did was stand up for a man who can’t stand up for himself. Would you let someone disrespect one of your relatives if they were in here?’
‘He’s not your relative, though, is he?’ he pointed out. ‘And I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about this whole Bert Bigsby thing. You’re stirring up trouble. If you write that story, you’ll just be inviting animosity.’
Pip stopped and waited as Erik turned to face her. ‘Why is that?’
‘You have to understand small towns. They’re close-knit. Families are loyal and they can hold a grudge like no other,’ he told her calmly. ‘It doesn’t help that you’re an outsider,’ he added. ‘This is local business.’
As they walked outside, Pip ignored the whispers and curious looks from the staff and visitors they passed, but inside she was fuming. If people thought they could intimidate her into silence, they sure as hell didn’t know her too well. If she hadn’t already made up her mind to look into Bert and Molly’s story, this had just decided it for her.