As dawn made a dismal attempt to break through the misty darkness of mid-winter, Vince stood on the doorstep of Susie’s house, a set of keys in one hand and a small suitcase in the other. For the longest time he stared at the door, his shoulders slumped. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the timber and drew in a long, ragged breath. The air came out white and wispy and floated around his head. A veil of sorrow.
A car passed and he jolted upright.
Among the tangle of keys he found the right one. As long as Susie hadn’t changed the locks.
The entry light was on, but the rest of the house was dark apart from a glow at the top of the stairs in the direction of Susie and David’s bedroom.
Vince turned abruptly and grabbed the handle of the door he’d just closed behind himself.
‘Damn. Dammit.’
But leaving wasn’t going to change anything. There were things to collect for Melanie.
He pulled a handwritten note from a pocket and checked it. More focused, he climbed the stairs. Melanie’s room was exactly like Melanie. Pretty—with its cute furnishings and touches; clever—with a shelf of books beyond her years; and neat as a pin apart from a brown teddy bear on the floor beside an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. He dropped the suitcase on the bed and systematically opened drawers and cupboard doors to collect a selection of clothing, socks, slippers, and her dressing gown. A book and a couple of toys. Just what would fit in the suitcase. There’d be time to collect the rest later.
The ensuite light was on at the far side of Susie and David’s bedroom and he forced himself to walk in to turn it off.
Past her bed.
Past her jewellery and clothes.
Past her reading chair with her current book open, pages down.
Keeping his eyes on the floor he turned the light off and fled the room. Downstairs he passed the living room and stepped back, drawn to the large family photograph on the feature wall. David. Melanie. Susie.
His little girl.
With her little girl.
The suitcase slipped from his fingers and fell, with a soft thud, onto thick carpet. Vince stumbled to the hallway then beyond the stairs to the kitchen, to the cupboard where Susie kept drinking glasses. One hand on the sink, he turned on the tap and held the glass under, then gulped the contents and refilled it.
As his heart rate came down he glanced in the fridge and pantry. Could he even take snacks into the hospital? Putting the glass down, he pulled the list out again and wrote on it.
Go shopping. Food. Pillows. Sheets.
He didn’t have it in him to take anything more from the house. Not today.
The phone on the counter blinked red with a message.
He pressed play and Susie’s cheerful voice drifted through the kitchen.
You’ve reached David, Susie, and Mel! Leave us a message.
Vince put his hands over his ears as his stomach contracted. He threw himself at the sink and vomited. No matter how tightly he squeezed his eyelids together they wouldn’t hold back the tears and he let them flow until the gagging stopped. Cleaning up the disgusting evidence of grief forced him to pull his act together.
The end of the message had beeped. He’d missed it.
His hands shook as he picked up the glass and drank until it was empty. Then he pressed play again.
You’ve reached David, Susie, and Mel! Leave us a message.
Message received at seven pm.
A male voice. Angry.
Pick up, for god sake.
A short silence.
First you ignore my messages on your mobile. Now this. You’ve made your bed, sunshine. Time’s up, Weaver.
‘What the hell?’ Vince slammed the glass down and it shattered.
He pressed play again, fury blinding him to the shards and when he reached for a notepad near the phone he cut his hand. Before blood could pool on the counter, Vince grabbed a handful of tissues from a box and applied pressure.
Then he pressed play again.
Liz dragged herself into the regular morning briefing. The room was almost full, with some detectives perched on desks or chairs, and others standing chatting. Without fail, they all looked at her with varying degrees of sympathy… or pity. Someone shoved a chair her way and she wasn’t about to refuse.
I never want a night like that again.
Pete followed a minute later with two takeaway coffees—large ones. ‘I told them you needed an extra shot.’ He handed her one and leaned against the wall nearby. ‘Did you sleep at all?’
‘Of course I did.’
She hadn’t.
Their shift had only two hours left—hours intended to use on the Hardy case but when the call had come about the car crash she’d yelled at him to get in. Despite Pete’s initial protest and continuing complaints, he’d made himself useful and been supportive without any further smart-arsed comments. They’d left the scene when the coroner arrived.
After dropping Pete home she’d driven to Vince’s cottage in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t there and she kicked herself. He’d have been at the hospital with little Melanie. And her fronting up there probably wouldn’t be what he’d want. He’d never want sympathy.
For an hour she’d sat in the car in his driveway and shed more tears than she knew she had inside.
The tears fell for Vince. He’d been her partner before Homicide Squad, when she was just starting out and he was ten years from retirement. She’d been there and seen what he’d experienced through losing his wife the same day he’d saved innocent people from a shooter at an Anzac parade. His grief and guilt never left him even though he could not have been in two places at one time. He wasn’t one to do counselling, apart from the department generated visits.
And Liz had wept for Susie. For the little girl who’d lost her mother and been raised by a father who loved her but probably never said it. Susie used to come in to the station back then, finishing homework while she waited for Vince. Everyone loved the kid.
But mostly, it was for Melanie.
‘Liz? All okay?’
She jolted back into the moment. It was unreal being here in the briefing room, which really, was an oversized office where detectives crammed together while renovations were underway. Once again, everyone was staring. She sipped her coffee rather than reply.
‘She’s good, Terry,’ Pete said.
Detective Senior Sergeant Terry Hall didn’t look convinced, but he turned to the whiteboard. ‘No major updates overnight of any active cases.’ He circled a name with a marker and faced the room again. ‘And a distinct lack of progress on the recapture of Malcolm Hardy. He’s been on the run for two days, people. Two days. A convicted murderer. A violent and intelligent criminal. And nobody knows where he is.’
Pete tossed the coffee cup he’d speed-drunk into an open rubbish bin. ‘Thing is, boss, we didn’t lose him. Idiots moving him to his new court hearing did so why is it our job to find him?’
There was a murmur of agreement. Every detective without an active case had been looking for Hardy or his accomplices.
‘You offering to take lead when he kills again? Explain to his victim’s family?’ Terry asked.
‘He only kills if he has a message to send.’
‘Shut up, Pete,’ Liz whispered. She didn’t need more on her plate.
‘Good advice, Liz. Too late though. McNamara? Get yourself down to Footscray and revisit his old haunts.’
Even as Pete groaned, the rest of the room laughed.
‘Me too, boss?’ Liz asked.
‘Go home for a bit. Get some sleep.’
‘Thought we might put some money into something for Vince. Or for Melanie.’ Liz got to her feet. ‘I don’t know what.’
Terry nodded. ‘We’ll come up with something.’ He glanced around the room. ‘For anyone who hasn’t heard, a car accident last night claimed the lives of Vince Carter’s daughter and son-in-law. Their small daughter survived.’
The door from the hallway opened abruptly and Vince stalked in. With all eyes on him, he stopped a few feet in, eyes roaming the room until resting on Liz. He seemed relieved to find her.
‘Burning ears, mate?’ Terry extended his hand to Vince, who looked at it then shook it. ‘We want to offer our deepest condolences. We’ll all miss Susie.’
‘Yeah. Um, thanks.’
‘You shouldn’t be in here though.’
‘Couldn’t find Liz. Or you.’
‘I’m here. Let’s take a walk.’ Liz reached his side. Up close, his skin was almost grey and the lines in his face deeply etched. He looked hollow.
‘Where are you with the investigation, Terry?’ Vince demanded.
With a surprised look, Terry shook his head. ‘Accident Investigation, mate. Their area, not ours.’
‘You’re joking.’ He almost spat the words.
‘Icy conditions on the road. No preliminary signs of anything other than an accident, Vince. Not foul play.’
‘Go back to the farm.’ Pete sniggered at his own comment until Liz shot him a warning glance.
Before Vince had a chance to go and pummel Pete, which he probably deserved, Liz touched his arm. ‘It was an accident.’
‘You so sure?’ Vince pulled a folded piece of paper from his top pocket and pressed it into her hand. As fast as he’d come in, he left.
Liz unfolded and read the few lines of Vince’s handwriting and her heart sank.
‘What is it?’ Terry asked.
‘He may be right.’ She handed the paper to Terry. ‘I’ll be back.’
He should have known better than to come here. A phone call would have done. An anonymous tip. He could have claimed he’d overheard someone making a threatening phone call to the Weaver house. This station wasn’t his stamping ground anymore. Long gone were the days where he’d be greeted with warmth. Needed for his experience. Appreciated for his knowledge.
‘Vince, wait up!’
Liz was the only one who still gave a damn. She’d been like a second daughter to him when they were partners. And Terry might care. But Terry had to toe the line. Be neutral.
He stopped in the middle of the hallway as she caught up.
‘The note?’ Her words came out like she was puffing.
‘Since when does jogging a hundred metres get you out of breath?’
In the twenty plus years he’d known Liz she’d been lean and all muscle thanks to her obsession with running. Half marathons were her gig and she’d won her share.
‘I’m not. What’s with the note?’
‘That was word for word from a message on Susie’s answering machine. There was a threat to David which he clearly ignored.’
‘A business threat, Vince? Or personal?’
‘Either. Both. Since he went into partnership with Pickering he was always just this side of the law, but I could never catch him out. Someone wanted him dead and took Susie with him.’
‘Any someone in particular?’ Liz asked.
‘If you hadn’t noticed I don’t work here. It’s your job to find out.’
‘Are you sure it was directed at David?’
His mouth opened to refute the implication. Then closed.
Susie would never be in trouble. Never attract the attention of the wrong people.
Except he didn’t believe in never.
‘I came to find you. At the cottage,’ Liz said.
‘You did?’
‘And realised where you’d be. Didn’t want to intrude at the hospital.’
A ridiculous prickle behind his eyes threatened to undo his resolve to stay strong. This wasn’t the place or time to fall apart. But he couldn’t look her in the eye.
‘How’s Melanie? I heard she’s not critical, thank god.’
‘Broken arm. Bruises. Shock.’
Liz touched his arm again. ‘What’s going to happen to her?’
‘She’ll be alright in time. Doctor thinks she can leave hospital soon. I'm going home to shower and change and then I'll head back. She needs me there.’
Pete McNamara sauntered in their direction. Someone needed to wipe that perpetual smirk off his face.
‘Is she coming to live with you?’ Liz asked.
Something about the way she asked riled him. ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Vince, I’m not. I’m just worried about you.’
He started walking again. Too many people staring. Judging. Pointing fingers.
Liz caught up. ‘What if I drop by later. Once she’s home with you?’
‘I raised Susie pretty much alone.’
‘Yeah I know and that’s why… Vince?’
He’d had enough. He increased the length of his stride.
Liz must have stopped. Her voice followed him. ‘Vince, come on.’
Thanks for the bloody vote of confidence.
‘Why are you still here?’
‘I’m going in a min.’ Liz flopped onto the seat opposite Terry. ‘I wanted to write up what I saw last night… early this morning. Get it down while I still remember.’
Terry raised both eyebrows. ‘You think there’s more to it than an accident.’
‘Maybe. When I was at the scene it felt like an odd place to lose control. The road is straight for a kilometre. Open paddocks on either side and no other roads or driveways near the scene. Yet the car spun and ended up on the wrong side of the road buried in a tree trunk.’
‘Kangaroos? Some other animal on the road?’
‘Always a possibility but still…’ She was too tired to figure it out.
‘Vince coping?’ Terry asked.
‘No. Thinks he is. But how much does one person need to bear in their life, Terry? I think that little girl is all he has left.’
‘Feel for him. Really do. Look, Liz? Accident Investigation won’t get to the car today so go home and sleep. I need you on the Hardy case but go and talk to Jim as well. See what he has to say about the crash. Tomorrow.’
She pushed herself to her feet. ‘And the message from the answering machine?’
‘Yeah, not really much of a threat. Could be a prank call or anything. Let’s see what Jim reports first. I doubt the answering machine is going anywhere.’