How he’d got back into the cottage, locked the front door, and climbed into his own bed was anyone’s guess. But when Vince had woken not long after dawn, he was warm and had only a vague memory of lying in the paddock.
‘Idiot.’ His hands hurt.
Showered and dressed, he went outside and fed the pony. The bottle of scotch was empty, the remaining contents spilling out when he’d dropped it. Probably just as well. With a bit of luck Melanie would be home today and he wasn’t about to repeat his actions of the previous night with her in the house.
Over coffee and toast, thankfully not burnt, he listened to the news.
Police continue to be baffled by the disappearance of convicted killer, Malcolm Hardy. Fifty-year-old Hardy escaped police custody on the way to a hearing, sparking a manhunt across Melbourne. This has been scaled down overnight.
‘Can’t keep everyone on it.’
Hardy’s legal team have declined to make a statement, but there is growing speculation that police will interview Richard Roscoe to determine if the lawyer can assist with locating the violent offender.
‘He’s not going to give up his client.’
Vince doubted Hardy’s lead lawyer had anything to do with the man escaping. Hardy had taken advantage of a lapse in security, an error which gave him the smallest of opportunities to break free of his guards. What was more likely was Roscoe’s knowledge of Hardy’s whereabouts. The man had escaped in handcuffs and was doing a good job of evading recapture. Media was having a field day with the police force.
An advertisement came on for a funeral home and Vince pulled the radio’s plug from the wall. Yesterday afternoon he’d arranged his daughter’s funeral—at least set it in motion until the coroner released her. The funeral home had treated him with sympathy and respect. They’d shown him caskets. Flower arrangements. Music suggestions. He didn’t know what to do for the most part and let the kind woman guide his choices. He’d buried his wife so many years ago and things had changed. Some things. Not the agony.
He got to his feet, shaking his head as if shaking away the pain. Today was a new start. A wonderful little girl was about to move in, and he had a lot of work ahead.
By late morning the cottage was as good as he could make it under the circumstances.
Melanie’s bed was freshly made with brand new sheets and pillow and on top of the blankets, he’d laid a patchwork quilt. He’d forgotten it was there, folded on the top shelf of the hallway cupboard and still as beautiful as when Susie used to have it on her own bed. Marion had made the quilt for their daughter.
He’d dug up a dusty lamp, cleaned it and put in a new light bulb. Now it was on her bedside table. She had a pretty pink one in her other bedroom and he’d see if she’d like that brought here, or prefer to choose a new one.
When she was recovered and ready, they’d go shopping for more modern furniture.
The sole bathroom had a clean from top to bottom. Not that it was in bad shape but not good enough for a young lady used to having one all to herself. He’d put the best towels out. Even added a flower in a glass from the posy Lyndall had left.
Is it okay? Have I missed anything?
Everything was as clean and inviting as he knew how to make it. He walked from room to room, ending up in the living room, hoping he’d done enough but all he could see was worn carpet and old curtains.
If she hated it here then he’d sell. Find something for them near her school.
What about Apple? She’d have to be agisted somewhere.
He closed his eyes. Leaving here wasn’t something he could think about. Not on top of everything… if only he could rewind the last few days. Tell Susie to stay home with Melanie. Stay away from whoever wanted her husband dead and didn’t care who went with him.
Forcing his eyes to open, he picked up his phone and dialled.
It went to Liz’s voicemail and he didn’t leave a message. She was probably knee-deep in finding Hardy.
Terry’s mobile number was still in his contacts
‘Vince? Everything okay?’
‘Hoping to get Mel home today.’
‘That is good news. She’s doing okay?’
He dropped onto the sofa. ‘What’s happening with the case?’
Terry’s sigh was audible through the phone. ‘Still looks like an accident, mate. Report isn’t back on the car but—’
‘But what, Terry? The message on the answering machine was a threat.’
‘Or some business contact of David’s feeling frustrated.’
‘You didn’t hear the tone of voice,’ Vince said. ‘I’ll go and record it for you. Or bring the machine in.’
Why didn’t I do that in the first place?
He pushed himself to his feet.
‘Make a copy on your phone and send it over. I’m not disregarding you, Vince. Just got a lot on my plate.’
‘Malcolm Hardy,’ Vince said.
‘Yup. Shouldn’t be our problem, yet it is. Send me the message, okay?’
After hanging up, Vince collected his wallet and keys. He took one more look around. Next time he was here, Melanie would be with him. Everything was about to change. Again.
Back at Susie’s house, Vince hesitated at the front door. But this time it was because something felt off. On the surface nothing had changed in just over a day except the doormat had moved a bit. He stepped back and took photographs on his phone. The corner was a few inches away from the doorstep, leaving a faint trace of powdery dirt around it as though it had been lifted and dropped.
There were potted plants on either side of the door. Both had fancy-coloured pebbles as a mulch and both had been scuffed up. Susie was meticulous about the plants but there was dirt through the pebbles.
Someone had searched for a house key.
He reached for a holster which was no longer there.
Hadn’t been in years.
Force of habit.
He should call the local cops but what would he say?
Send a unit over with sirens. I have a gut instinct. Things are slightly moved.
Vince unlocked the door and pushed it open. He peered in, then careful not to disturb the doormat, stepped inside. It was cold. As if a window was open somewhere.
The living room looked fine. And the kitchen. Dining room good.
But what he found in the laundry was enough to make him call the local police. And then send a message to Terry.
It was worse than a simple break-in.
Knowing better than to touch anything with bare hands, Vince found a plastic bag in a cupboard and through it, pressed ‘play’ on the answering machine.
There are no new messages. There are no saved messages.
He’d slammed his fist onto the counter.
If he’d made a copy yesterday… if he’d have picked up the machine and taken it…
Terry arrived before the uniforms. Vince was outside after taking more photographs of anything he considered relevant. Forty minutes and no sign of local law for a break and enter at the home of a murder victim.
‘Am I the cavalry?’ Terry looked exhausted.
He was only a few years younger than Vince but had done everything right with his job and made a decent career for himself. He must be overdue to retire but still had that passion for the job Vince lost long ago.
‘I requested lights and sirens,’ Vince said.
‘Shall I put mine on?’ Terry grinned.
‘Save them for catching Hardy. Someone deleted the message.’
‘On the answering machine? Crap.’
‘I’ve had a careful walk through and on the surface nothing is missing or disturbed in the house.’ Vince pointed at the garage. ‘Haven’t been in there. Regardless, whoever broke in did it to remove the evidence.’
‘Of the voice mail? Bit extreme.’
‘If whoever called that night was responsible for the… crash, then they might have had a serious case of message regret. They want to destroy anything linking them to it.’
A patrol car pulled up across the driveway.
‘We’ll get it looked at.’ Terry tapped on his phone. ‘I’ll see if someone smarter than me can recover the message.’
While Terry made the phone call, Vince walked back to the house. Relief was an odd thing to feel but Terry’s support, even if just to pacify him, helped. The uniformed officers caught up with him and he pointed out the doormat and pot plants, then led them to the laundry. He’d need to secure the broken window before leaving. No time to have it replaced today when he had to meet with Melanie’s doctor soon.
‘Let’s check that machine.’ Terry tracked him down. ‘Meg at Missing Persons is a brilliant cyber forensics person. She’ll take a look but is backlogged.’
Nothing’s changed from my day.
The message hadn’t magically returned, and Terry commandeered it in a large evidence bag. ‘Gotta go, mate. I’ll bring Liz in on this and let her update you. Have you seen her? I mean since the station yesterday.’
Not ready for that.
‘Paths haven’t crossed.’
‘Then make them cross.’ Terry stared at him. ‘She broke her heart the other night at the scene, and I’m not comparing it to your loss, so don’t give me that look, but Liz is on your side. Always. If there is any evidence that the crash was engineered, then she’ll find it.’
‘So it is a Homicide investigation?’
‘No. But you are still one of us and everyone loved Susie. What Liz does in her own time is her choice.’ Terry patted Vince’s shoulder. ‘Give us a few days with this.’ He slightly raised the answering machine. ‘Get out of here as soon as you can.’
The ride home from the hospital was quiet and Vince took his time, ever so careful going around corners and over speed bumps. Melanie sat beside him staring out of the window. She looked so fragile and small.
The doctor had said she was doing well. She needed rest and her medication and lots of love. He’d arranged a visit to the shrink the next day and suggested it was worth continuing with the visits for a while. The break of her forearm was expected to heal over the coming weeks, as would the bruises and bumps. It was her heart and mind which would take longer to find a way forward.
‘Do you remember my house, Mel?’
She nodded, her eyes somewhere out on the passing landscape.
‘How’s the arm?’
Geez, Vince. Is that the best you can do?
She didn’t answer.
‘Not far now.’
There was a quick glance his way and Vince’s heart dropped at the uncertainty in her eyes, but he smiled until she looked away again.
The rest of the trip was in silence, and he was relieved to turn into the driveway. She sat up a bit to better see ahead.
Are you seeing this like I am?
Years of living on his own had acclimatised him to the decay.
The driveway was a long dirt track between sparsely grassed space which was neither paddock nor garden. There was a garden—or had been years ago—around the cottage but little more than the sad remains struggled on their own. The cottage itself needed more than paint and a hammer. It was old but not in a heritage listed way. Some had said a bulldozer would have been a kinder death than the tortuous rotting of weatherboards and awnings.
To one side of the cottage was a slightly tilted carport and Vince pulled in underneath. Just ahead was a series of sheds and a lean-to where his stock of winter firewood lived.
He climbed out and opened the passenger door, but Melanie didn’t move. Her eyes were wide. Worried. He unclipped the seatbelt. ‘I went shopping yesterday. Got lots of food and stuff.’
Her lips quivered.
‘Can’t remember the last time you visited. I mean, I remember coming to your house but it must be three years since you were here. You were little, not a big girl like now. And I’m very happy you are here with me. Are you hungry?’
She nodded and let him help her out. Her arm was in a sling until she was confident to go without. She waited while he collected the suitcase with her things then took her good hand and led the way.
Halfway to the front door, a cow in the paddock next door bellowed and Melanie squealed and jumped.
‘Mamma cow is just calling for her baby.’ After putting the suitcase down, Vince hoisted Melanie up with one arm and pointed with the other. ‘See. Over there?’ A calf ran to its mother in the distance. ‘And can you see the big house way up there? That belongs to Lyndall who is much scarier than the cows. She has donkeys as well. Do you like donkeys? Long ears. Noisy.’
The little girl shoved her face against his coat.
Raindrops pattered against the metal roof. The temperature dropped.
Melanie lay on the sofa in the living room, a blanket covering everything but her head as she watched some kids show on the television. Every so often, her lips curled up in response to something on the screen. Vince didn’t want to intrude on her escape from reality but she noticed him standing in the doorway.
‘I have some lunch for you.’ He carried a tray and she sat up, arranging the blanket to make space. ‘Sorry it is so late. I hope you like strawberry jam. I made one sandwich with that and one with peanut butter.’
‘Jam is bad for my teeth. Mummy doesn’t like me having it…’
‘Well, um, just as a special treat? You can brush your teeth afterwards and look, there’s a glass of milk which is good for them. Calcium.’
She picked up the peanut butter sandwich and bit into it as her eyes returned to the television.
It was too cold in here. Vince dug around in the fireplace with a poker at the remnants of a fire long gone.
‘Might go chop up a bit of wood to get the fire going. Warm things up. You be okay for a few minutes?’
She made some noise through a full mouthful which he took as a yes.
Lumps of hardwood were stacked beneath the lean-to. Grabbing a long-handled axe from the shed, Vince set to work. Splinters of wood flew as he smashed blow after blow into the blocks. Every so often he stopped long enough to wipe the handle and his eyes from the intensifying rain, then he’d begin again, uncaring that his shirt was clinging to his skin.
Melanie needed warmth. The cottage was too cold for a little girl.
How could I let the place fall apart like this? Marion would hate it.
She’d hate more than that.
Chop. The axe sliced into the wood.
I destroyed my relationship with Susie.
Chop. Pieces splintered and flew off.
I can never make amends now.
Marion long gone. Susie gone.
When he wiped the rain away from his eyes again he realised.
Those were tears.