I think all this invisibility rubbish is exactly that. I am perfectly visible to those who matter in my life. Who cares about the rest?
It was a picture-perfect winter night, crisp and cloudless with a moon that was just a sliver from full. Trees were silhouetted against the charcoal sky like cardboard cutouts, without the slightest breeze, and the flat black of the road was like a typewriter ribbon. If such things still existed.
Fortunately the unpleasant young policeman had taken over from Matthew at midnight so I had no compunctions about leaving him to guard an empty house while I strolled up to meet Deb by the highway. Also fortunately she had been prompt, because it was extremely cold. For the first time since the accident I was wearing my hat, even if it did combine with the collar to give me a monochrome mushroom look. I was also wearing black pants and a long black coat, Matrix-style, and rather fancied the appropriateness of my outfit. Deb, on the other hand, had just gone with jeans and a puffy, noisy ski jacket.
We reached the traffic lights outside Majic at precisely three am. The town seemed eerily frozen, not a breath of life, a flicker of movement. Instead the landscape had a tranquillity that was almost tangible. Deb turned off the main street and Sheridan House loomed before us, rising from the earth like a gothic movie set. The turrets, the gables, the soaring inscrutability were made for this time of the night. Apart from some filtered light from the odd window, no doubt for security, and the distant glow of streetlights along the highway, the only illumination was the swollen moon and a scattering of stars. Any moment a grim-faced Hugh Jackman would stride purposefully across the car park, sword in hand. One could only hope.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Deb, casting the building a glance as she skirted the car park.
I frowned. ‘Hang on, where are you going?’
‘Just around to the back. It’s more private.’ She turned into the rear car park and pulled into a close proximity of where Sam’s car had been. Within minutes of turning off the engine, the temperature began to plummet. Deb rubbed her hands together, her jacket rasping noisily. ‘You’re sure Petra’s coming?’
I nodded. ‘She’s always late. Sorry.’
‘Well, while we’re waiting I’ll show you this.’ Deb’s sleeves rustled as she pulled a sheet of paper from her bag. ‘I was going to leave it till Petra got here, but …’
She flicked the glove box open and a light came on. I saw a printout containing a newspaper advertisement and a column of handwritten dates: 1885, 1886, 1887, 1888. I leant towards the dashboard to read.
JULIUS BURGER, Your wife arrived per Pemptos. Communicate at once with William Crosby & Co., 14 Queens-street.
MISS M. SHERIDAN, The door is always open. All will be well. J.S., Majic.
WILLIAM WHITBY, Esq., of Maryborough, Queensland, please wire your address to ERNEST J.W. CHAMBERS, Solicitor
‘It’s from the Argus, a newspaper that was published from 1848 till 1956. The same ad was printed in February each of those years,’ explained Deb, pointing to the handwritten dates. ‘They were the only mention that Lew could find anywhere with either surname.’
‘God, young James didn’t give up easily. Took him four years.’
‘Yes. It’s rather sad.’
I was still staring at the paper. ‘So is the fact that Julius Burger’s wife seems to have been abandoned. William Crosby and Co sound a little peeved.’
‘Poor Mrs Burger. Maybe her second marriage was to someone called McDonald and her future was assured.’
‘Apart from the clogged arteries.’
Deb closed the glove box and took the sheet back, folding it in half. ‘But this means James may not have been aware of a second guy. He calls Matilda Miss Sheridan.’
‘Or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to use that name. Anyway, he probably knew that if she read the paper at all, she’d look under her maiden name as well.’
Headlights flickered from around the corner and Petra’s car eased into view. With a crunching of gravel, she parked next to Deb and leapt out to tug my door open. ‘Come on, it’s freezing! Good god, are you dressed as a cat burglar? You do realise your collar glows in the dark?’
‘You’re late.’
‘I know. Sorry. I hit snooze once too often.’ She slapped her gloved hands together. Her breath came out in puffy plumes. ‘Come on, what’s the plan?’
‘Well, first, not to make too much noise.’ Deb slung her bag over her shoulder and waited until I got out before locking the car. There was enough reflected light to see our way to the rear door. Deb got out a heavy set of keys and sorted through until she found the right one. The door opened with an effort, scraping teeth-jarringly over the flagged threshold, and we stepped through into a dark recess behind the stairs. She pushed the door closed and the lock engaged automatically. A cold, cavernous silence enveloped us.
‘On a scale of one to ten, how illegal is this?’ asked Petra. ‘And how long have we got?’
‘At least two hours and it shouldn’t take us nearly that,’ replied Deb, ignoring the first question. ‘Will’s been getting here early but never before six. I’d like to be out by five.’
Our eyes were already beginning to adjust to the near-darkness, which was itself alleviated as we rounded the corner and started up the stairs. The only sound was Deb’s jacket, which sounded like two canvas tents trying to mate. At the third floor we paused.
‘I’ll go guard first,’ I said, mainly because I needed to use the bathroom anyway.
Deb nodded. ‘Okay, half an hour sentry duty each. That should do us.’
They continued down the hallway to the Historical Society room, and Deb unlocked the door. I turned to scout my position. A small alcove between the bathroom and the passage contained a window that looked out over the main car park, together with what would normally be a wonderful view of the valley. At the moment it was dark, with just smudged streetlights in the distance. I couldn’t see the rear car park but was less worried about that direction as it was seldom used and, besides, I was confident that even from upstairs I would hear the rear door being used. In fact, I could probably hear it from my house.
It was during a flurry of emails yesterday afternoon that I remembered Leisl Akermann mentioning a database with past inhabitants of Majic. This, we had rapidly realised, was our best chance of finding the man Matija had eloped with, if indeed that was what had happened. At the very least, it was an avenue that needed to be closed. We were working on the assumption that they married at some point during or after 1885, resulting in a name-change that removed both Matija Majic and Matija Sheridan from the records. This meant that every eligible male in 1885, and then working backwards, needed to be checked against a genealogical site that Lew had provided. It would have been easier to download or print the records, and then go through them at our leisure, but apparently the database was protected and the printer coded. So we were stuck at the centre and Lew was stuck at home, sitting by their computer and waiting for his share of names. We were anticipating quite a few.
I checked the car park and then used the bathroom, bruising both shins in the darkness, before settling myself on the window ledge and wrapping my coat tightly around me for warmth. Star light, star bright, I wish I had this wish tonight. I put one hand on the window, starfish-like, and felt the chill seep into my skin. I simply could not imagine Ruby providing community aid in a Third World country. I couldn’t even imagine her providing community aid in a First World country. This was a girl who struggled to provide aid in the kitchen. Scarlet was the one with a strong sense of social justice, while Lucy was the one who was brimming with altruism. Ruby was my sporty one and, later on, my restless one. Flitting along in her older sister’s shadow and trying to find her own place in the light. I wasn’t sure that selling her only viable asset and running away for a year was going to do it.
‘Psst, my turn,’ hissed Petra. She grinned when I jumped. ‘Great guard you are.’
‘I was watching the car park.’ I yawned and then adjusted my collar as I rose. ‘What’s the time? Oh, and how’s it going?’
‘Ten to four, and boring. No luck yet. Shit, it’s freezing!’
I left Petra briskly rubbing her arms in the alcove. As soon as I opened the office door, I realised why she had felt the temperature so keenly. It was toasty warm in here, with two small electric heaters glowing fiery red. Deb, now jacket-less, was in front of a computer in the corner but was busily keying into her smart phone. She was wearing her red-framed glasses. I walked over to examine the monitor. It contained a complex spreadsheet of names and dates and numbers.
‘Okay.’ She turned and gestured towards a nearby chair. An iPad sat on the desk. ‘I’ve got the database on this computer but we don’t want to use any others in case someone checks the history. So we’re using our own devices to check the names. Lew’s got the computer at home, I’m using my phone and you’ve got the iPad. Make sense?’
I nodded as I slipped off my coat and sat down. I used some books to build a stand for the iPad, bringing it up to my impeded line of vision. Henry Cornwallis was the last name that had been checked. A black-and-white photo showed a gloomy-faced man with an equally gloomy-faced wife and a pair of gloomy children. Fun times at the Cornwallis household.
‘Not all have photos,’ said Deb, glancing at the iPad. ‘Anyway, the site is loaded so you just key in the name and check the information. If there’s no record, or not enough details to rule him out, then write him down here.’ She slid a notepad across and opened it to a page with about eight names. Then she flicked it back to the first page. ‘I’ll write the names to be checked here, and you cross them off as you go. Ready?’
I nodded again and got started. It was slow and tedious work, particularly as the site reloaded itself with each new name. Even more annoying was the fact my iPad kept slipping from its stand, causing Jeremiah Eastermann or James Titchfield or Henry Dore to go spinning from horizontal to vertical and then back. A headache formed slowly in the base of my skull and worked its way forward to my temples. Every so often Deb’s phone would buzz and she would relay a fresh list of names to Lew. He seemed to be working quicker than either of us.
After half an hour, Deb loaded the notepad with names to be checked and then took her turn at guard duty. Petra swept into the room and went straight to the heater, holding her hands over the glowing bars.
‘We’re never going to find this guy,’ I commented, taking a moment to stretch.
‘I no longer care,’ said Petra. She sat down in Deb’s chair and picked up the smart phone, then put it down again. ‘I thought espionage was supposed to be exciting. And less frigging cold.’
‘I’m thinking of buying Dad’s old shop. Turning it into a townhouse.’
‘Really?’ Petra stared at me. She frowned, thinking, and then nodded. ‘Actually, I can see that. Great location, too. No, I think that’s a great idea! When did this happen?’
‘I only looked at them yesterday. I rang the real estate agent who’s handling them and got some prices. The problem is that I’d really like both, but they’re a bit higher than I want to go. I think the owner wants to recoup the architect costs, for starters. But he should be flexible. They’ve been on the market for over a year, the motel across the road should make a difference, and he’d be getting rid of both at the same time. So I was thinking …’
‘You want me to make some inquiries?’
‘Yes. Because you’re used to this sort of thing. I can’t do it if the price isn’t right, because I have to allow for actual renovations.’
‘No problem.’ Petra lapsed into silence for a while. ‘Do you remember those carcasses hanging out the back? I hated them. They used to give me nightmares.’
‘I’d forgotten those. Don’t ruin things.’
‘Have you told Mum?’
‘Yes. And she thinks it’s a good idea too. With or without carcasses.’ I looked at the clock. ‘God, it’s half past four. Why aren’t I in bed?’
Petra sighed as she picked up Deb’s phone again. ‘Come on, we’d better get to work.’
I nodded, rather reluctantly, and then typed in Werner Haas. Apart from a mention on two electoral rolls he had no other information so I wrote him down. The next seven names were crossed off for a variety of reasons, such as age, marital status and, in one case, dwarfism. I suspected it would have been more difficult to cover her tracks had she run off with a dwarf. This wasn’t Snow White.
‘Thought I had them for a moment!’ Petra sat back. ‘Thomas Littleton married a Matilda in 1886 but the wrong one. She was born in 1860 and she’s butt ugly.’
‘Maybe she was good in bed.’
‘Well, she’d been married twice before so she had to have something going for her.’
The door opened and Deb slipped inside. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Slowly. Is it time to swap already?’
‘Yep.’ She came over to stand behind Petra. ‘Is that all you’ve done?’
‘There were a couple of complicated ones,’ said Petra. ‘Required extra time. I thought it was important that we be thorough.’
‘You’re right. Well done.’
I stood and picked up my coat. ‘My turn then. How much time have we got left?’
‘Forty minutes max.’ Deb sighed. ‘That’ll bring us to five-thirty and we can’t risk staying any longer. This is shaping up as a real fizzer.’
The chill enveloped me as I left, even worse now that I had spent an hour in the warmth. The only area that remained snug was my neck, encased in foam. I thought about running up and down the stairs for a while, but instead simply took up my earlier position on the windowsill. Nothing had changed. No visible signs of injury, say forensic experts. Victim most likely bored to death.
For about twenty minutes I played with mental floor plans, mostly around the bottom floor of my proposed residence. I thought about how tired I was, which prompted a series of yawns, my chin pressing down into the collar. Then I decided to visit the bathroom before my replacement arrived. The joys of a middle-aged bladder. I had just settled myself when I heard a muffled whoosh, which was a little disconcerting. But the house was almost one hundred and fifty years old so a few idiosyncrasies were to be expected. I wondered what this room had been back then, because it was doubtful that it had always been a ladies room with three stalls, two washbasins and a hand-dryer. It was odd to think that the girl we were searching for had actually lived here at one time, wandered these halls, touched the walls, gazed through the windows.
The latter thought reminded me that I was supposed to be on guard duty so I finished up, washed quickly and went back to my windowsill. The minutes ticked past slowly, although I had no way of knowing how many. It did seem as if I should have been replaced by now. I decided to count to sixty-nine, because it was three times my favourite number, and then go and hurry them along. I had only reached twenty when the sound of a door opening echoed up the stairwell. I froze, and then leapt to my feet as the stairs creaked beneath heavy footsteps. With my heart hammering, I ran down to the office and pushed at the door. It was locked. I stared at it stupidly and tried again, with similar results.
‘Petra! Deb!’ I hissed. ‘Somebody’s here!’
There was no reply and now the footsteps were even louder. Slow, but relentlessly steady. I looked frantically to my left but the passage ended abruptly just past the Historical Society office. A couple of filing cabinets stood there but I doubted I could cram myself into one of the drawers. Filed under P for petrified. I hesitated another second and then ran lightly back the way I had come, hoping to be able to duck into the alcove. But I had barely reached the last office when a darkened shape hove into view. Both the shape and I immediately stopped, mid-movement. I wondered if it could see me as clearly as I could see it. After a few moments it began to slowly advance up the remaining steps. It reached to one side and light flooded the passageway.
‘Nell? Nell Forrest?’
‘Oh my god, Will. Oh god.’ I put one hand up to my chest. ‘I thought –’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What are you doing here?’ I replied, opting for the attack.
‘I came in early. So much to get done. But hey, I work here! It’s not even five-thirty!’
‘Really?’ I didn’t know what to say next. Where were Petra and Deb?
His surprise had turned into a frown. Without saying another word he strode forward, pushed past me and went down to the society office. He tried the door and then fished out his keys and unlocked it. The door swung open but he didn’t enter, instead he looked back towards me. ‘You’ve been in here. It’s still warm.’
‘Yes.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m sorry, Will, I really am. But it was the only way to finish our – my research. I couldn’t let anyone know because of the risks. After what happened to Sam, you know.’
‘Nothing happened to Sam. He was killed by Ned.’
‘No, I don’t believe he was. I think he discovered something about Majic, a secret, and he was killed because of it. Ned too.’
Will stared at me, and then turned towards the empty room again. After a few long minutes, he looked back but his gaze now seemed unfocused. ‘What did you find out?’
‘That Petar Majic may have been murdered. That he was married, and the original James Sheridan tried to cover that up. He falsified documents, married the widow. There was a child also and she should have inherited everything. But she was defrauded.’
‘They tried to find her!’
I blinked. Then moved sideways, towards the stairs. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I was told,’ replied Will quickly. ‘Sam told me, the evening he died. Before. I just haven’t said anything because, Nell, don’t you realise what this means? If it gets out, the town will be ruined! Majic is made of Sheridans. Sheridan Road, Sheridan Lane, Sheridan House.’
‘That doesn’t make it right.’
Will took a step forward. ‘But who is it hurting? Even if the girl had descendants, they aren’t part of this.’ He spread both arms out wide. ‘They don’t know Majic. And what about this centre? Everything I’ve – we’ve worked for! Do you realise we could lose it all?’
‘I doubt it. There might be compensation but this place at least should be safe.’
‘But you don’t know that. Are you willing to take the risk? What about the commemoration this weekend? The statue of Petar Majic and James Sheridan side by side? We’d be the laughingstock of the country. Nell, I’m begging you, don’t do this.’
I stared at him. ‘Did you kill Sam?’
‘No! Certainly not!’
‘Did you beg him also, and he said no? And my car! Did you try to kill me?’
Will closed his eyes and sucked in air, then let it out in a sigh that sounded visceral. ‘I just don’t understand. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Look at everything the Sheridans have done for this town! They’ve provided employment, donated this centre, even sponsored the football team. There’s not a board in town without a Sheridan on it. You can’t trip over a working bee that doesn’t have a Sheridan involved. James is the mayor! Surely they’ve compensated for a mistake made one hundred and fifty years ago?’
‘A mistake?’ I glanced stiffly towards the stairs, calculating my chances of making it before Will. They were fairly good. ‘Even if James Sheridan wasn’t a murderer, he was certainly a cheat. That’s a crime, a series of crimes, not a mistake. They shouldn’t be in a position to provide employment, or sponsor teams. And the house wasn’t theirs to donate.’
‘This is because of Tessa Sheridan, isn’t it? You’re trying to get revenge.’
I shook my head slowly. ‘You’re mad.’
‘So now what I am supposed to do?’ His voice came out in a querulous whine. After a moment I realised he actually expected an answer.
‘It’s over, Will. I’m not the only one who knows all this.’
‘What?’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not true. Who? Who else?’
‘Me for starters,’ said Petra from the stairwell. ‘And Deb Taylor, who is right now calling the police.’
I whipped around, as far as the collar allowed. Relief flooded my body, mixing with the adrenalin. Behind Petra was Deb, who was talking rapidly into her phone. I looked back at my sister, just in time to see her eyes widen. Then suddenly there was an arm around my neck wrenching me backwards. The collar took most of the force, but it still hurt. Instinctively I clawed at the arm as I staggered, trying not to lose my balance. My hat flipped forward, covering my face, so that now not only was I being dragged backwards by a maniac but I was also in darkness. I kicked out but my foot caught in the hem of my coat and drove us both sideways, into the wall.
‘I’ll kill her!’ he said shrilly. ‘Don’t think I won’t do it! If you don’t –’
A muffled thud cut his voice off mid-rant and suddenly I was free. I collapsed, my foot still caught in the coat so that one leg twisted beneath my weight. I yelped even as I looked sideways to where Will was now sitting beside me with his hand to his nose. Blood streamed out between his fingers, dripping onto his shirt. He removed his hand for a moment and stared at it in disbelief.
‘You bitth! You hit me!’
Petra was rubbing her knuckles. ‘God, that hurt.’
I scuttled sideways, away from Will. My neck, which had been feeling better, was now throbbing again. And so was my leg. I tried to straighten the collar but it seemed to be jammed under my left ear. I picked up my hat instead.
‘Oh my god!’ Deb loomed into view, staring from Will to me. ‘Are you okay?’
‘No,’ said Will, with his edge of whine. ‘I need a ambuyance.’
I glared at her. ‘Where were you two?’
‘Where were you?’ returned Petra accusingly. ‘We heard the heating come on so made a run for it. You were supposed to be on guard!’
‘We thought you must have already left,’ added Deb. ‘So after we called and you didn’t answer, we went straight outside. We were running around in the dark trying to find you.’
‘I suppose all’s well that ends well,’ I replied forgivingly. ‘Besides, it might not be what we intended, but we’ve solved something at least.’
Deb grinned. ‘We’ve solved more than that. We found him. Matija’s husband.’
‘Really?’ I took a deep breath, let it out. ‘That’s even better.’
‘Who?’ asked Will. Blood had formed crimson seams between his fingers.
‘Petar Majic’s son-in-law,’ said Deb smartly. ‘Avery Logan. The man who Matija Majic ran away with. And married. And had a child with.’
‘No. No.’
I watched Will’s expression slide from disbelief to despair. I felt a little sorry for him in spite of everything. It had all been for nothing. The jarring sound of the rear door echoed up the stairwell and heavy footsteps could be heard hurrying up the stairs. Matthew Carstairs burst into view followed, of course, by Ashley Armistead. I pushed myself back against the wall, hoping to burrow into the plaster.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Ashley, striding forward. He paused beside Deb and took in the scene, then turned to Matthew. ‘Ambulance.’
‘It was Will,’ said Deb. ‘He killed them. He tried to kill Nell too. Just now.’
Ashley stepped over me and hoisted Will to his feet in one movement. Will yelped, and then yelped again as he was firmly manoeuvred down the passageway. Ashley slapped him against the wall and patted him down, ignoring the objections. Matthew had joined him by the time he finished so Ashley left Will in good hands and returned to us. A splatter of blood finished with a smear across his windcheater. He stared at me and took a deep breath.
I got in first. ‘Before you say anything, can I just say that we didn’t know he’d be here.’
‘It’s five-thirty in the morning.’
‘Exactly.’
His gaze remained steady. ‘Where’s your security?’
‘Guarding my house. You need to include a lecture at the academy on how not to underestimate a middle-aged woman.’
An ambulance siren sounded in the distance, rising and falling and getting steadily louder. Ashley looked at Deb. ‘I expected more of you. Breaking and entering?’
‘But I have a key. So it’s not breaking and entering. It’s just starting work early.’
‘I note you didn’t say you expected more of me,’ said Petra, flexing her hand. ‘I’ll have you know I saved the day.’
‘I’d prefer the day didn’t need to be saved at all, but I’m beginning to see that’s a pattern with you lot.’ He gazed at us each in turn, clearly unimpressed. ‘So after we get the ambulance officers to check you out, we’ll go for a little trip down to the police station and you can tell me exactly what happened. Should be fascinating.’
He turned away to check on the situation with Matthew and Will. Deb was texting on her phone, no doubt to her husband. I reached out a hand and Petra grabbed it, helping me to my feet. I wobbled a little until my equilibrium returned, just enough to make me stable. Then I wrenched my collar around until the dip was under my chin instead of my ear, adjusted my hat and limped with as much dignity as I could muster towards the stairs.