When Arlo left Mia he went to the police station to have a chat to Rupe. After John Helger, the friend who’d called triple 0, Rupe had been first on the scene that night. He had no specific questions, just wanted Rupe’s impression of the case. Was Tony depressed? How had they reached that conclusion when there didn’t seem to be any evidence of suicidal tendencies, or of prior violence?
Shannon looked up from behind the reception desk when he walked into the red brick station building, dripping water from his anorak onto the lino. Under her sternly lifted eyebrow he reversed, took it off and shook it out on the small porch.
‘Can I come in now?’
‘Wipe your feet,’ she said. ‘Got a problem to report, Arlo?’
‘No. Anything interesting happening on the crime scene?’
‘Not a thing. Too cold for the criminal class to be out at night.’
That would be the teenage graffiti artists and vandals looking for some fun.
‘G’day, mate.’ Rupe came out from his office with a sheaf of papers.
‘Can I have a word, please, Rupe?’
‘Sure. Shannon, can you take care of these please?’
She took the papers and threw Arlo a questioning look he ignored.
In his office, door closed, Rupe grimaced when he told him why he was there.
‘I’d just like to know a bit more about the case. For example how you, the police, reached your decision that Tony was depressed. I want to know why he did it.’
‘Do you think the finding is incorrect?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’m just trying to understand what happened. We all knew him and he never gave any indication of suicidal tendencies or violence.’
Rupe nodded. ‘I know. He had no record. No evidence of fights, or abuse or violence, I mean. No-one could report any indication of marital discord. Quite the opposite. Her parents said she was as happy as they’d ever seen her and Tony was good to her. They were planning a trip to Greece and they were both excited about it. John Helger said he’d told Tony he’d drop in one evening and Tony said any time. It wasn’t just a police decision, the coroner based it on the medical report as well.’
‘So he was being treated for depression?’
‘No, he’d seen Doc a couple of times for help sleeping.’
Arlo rubbed his chin. ‘It doesn’t mean he wasn’t depressed.’
‘No, I agree and Glenda would have walked out straight away if there was any hint of violence.’
Arlo shook his head. ‘You know as well as I do we like to think an abused woman would but it’s very difficult.’
‘You didn’t know Glenda as well as the rest of us did. She’d give as good as she got especially after Barry walked out on her. Abbie said she told the book group once she wasn’t about to put up with more crap from a husband. She said she and Tony were best friends which she realised was really important as they aged.’ Rupe rubbed his chin. ‘That’s what makes this so … weird.’
‘Have you spoken to Mia yet? You know she’s back, staying at the house?’
‘Yes, I heard but I have no reason to talk to her and she hasn’t contacted me.’
Arlo nodded. ‘What do you think happened, Rupe? Mia seemed to have some sort of … doubt about it.’
‘So you’ve already seen her.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘We have to go by evidence and facts and they point the same way. If she thinks we’re missing something she should have spoken up before.’ He paused a moment. ‘One of Tony’s ex-girlfriends said at the time she thought it was a double homicide.’
‘Really?’ Arlo snapped upright. ‘She thinks they were both murdered? Why?’
‘Women’s intuition? Her gut feeling? Call it what you will. She insisted he would never do anything like that but she hadn’t talked to or seen the man for fifteen years and we found no evidence whatsoever that anyone else was in the house at the time. John arrived at around eight.’
‘How did he get in?’
‘Knocked then went in, called out hello, because Tony knew he was coming. He’d been there before. The lights were on, door was unlocked. People do that here. He was pretty shaken up.’
Arlo nodded but went back to the girlfriend.
‘Did she have any reason why anyone would want them dead?’
Rupe shook his head. ‘She wanted us to find out. The detectives investigated but as I said, they came up with nothing. The family was well-liked in town, no fights, no disputes.’
‘Money troubles?’
‘The house was paid for. Both had steady jobs. Nothing obvious.’
‘So she’s wrong.’
‘I think it’s very hard for all of us to accept that someone we knew and liked, and in her case loved, could do something like that. But it happens.’
‘Why did he own a gun? He wasn’t a farmer and selling real estate in Willoughby isn’t very dangerous.’
‘Willoughby Gun Club member. He bought the pistol he used a few weeks before he died. Had a rifle before that but sold it, said he didn’t like using it.’
‘So it was a fairly new thing since he moved here?’ Other people took up golf or cycling or bowls. But why not pistol shooting?
‘Apparently. He said a client had told him about it and he thought it sounded interesting. It’s a long process to be licensed.’
‘And rightly so. Got a name for the client?’
‘Alan Brown. Why?’
‘Background,’ he said. ‘What’s her name, the woman who thought it was murder?’
‘Arlo … what are you doing?’ Rupe’s tone altered. ‘Are you planning to stir this up again? Can’t we move on?’
‘Don’t you think it’s worth another look? Doesn’t something feel wrong to you? A loose end … Did you look at Glenda’s ex, for example?’
‘For God’s sake, Arlo. Has Mia Petros put you up to this? Is she asking you to investigate?’
‘No, I promise. Yes, I talked to her but I approached her, not the other way around. I want to do a piece on Tony. Tell his story, his background from her point of view. Let people know he wasn’t a monster. Remind them what he was like and focus on the depression aspect. She agreed. I don’t want to cause trouble but I think he deserves some sympathy. I know a psychiatrist I can ask for a comment on depression and tie it in with a link to Beyond Blue. You have to admit suicide is a big problem in rural areas.’
Rupe nodded. ‘I can’t stop you but do me a favour? Let me read it before you print it.’
‘I don’t think so. Police censorship? What happened to freedom of the press?’
Rupe didn’t reply. Instead he regarded Arlo, unsmiling, until Arlo said, ‘All right. As a courtesy but it’s not going to change what I write. What’s the woman’s name, the ex?’
‘Linda Karas. Ask your friend Mia about her. Now go away and bother someone else. But not John Helger, his wife’s not well.’ He glowered at Arlo.
Arlo grinned. ‘Thanks, mate. This’ll be fairly low key. I’m not planning to rip the town apart. By the way, what’s with the symbol on the front doorframe of Tony’s house?’
‘I didn’t see one.’
‘You would have if it was there last year. It’s two crossed swords about so big.’ He held up his hands as a measure.
Rupe sighed. ‘That’ll be Coral.’
‘What does it mean?’ Coral, the local psychic who dabbled in all things supernatural.
‘No idea. Look it up or ask her.’
Back at the office Arlo went straight through to his flat and changed his sodden shoes, socks and jeans. It was pouring down out there now. Then, mug of tea in hand he did a computer search for Linda Karas. Plenty of possibilities there but none fit the age group and probable home town. Asking Mia would be easiest.
He looked up the symbol. It was used in witchcraft amongst other things and according to the source he’d found meant opposite viewpoints. Conflict, arguments, negativity. A stalemate or pause in action.
The office door flew open letting in a stream of damp air and Georgia.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I have some great photos of Les and Sal and the great grandees.’
‘Good. Write it up and the front page is done.’
Georgia disappeared to dump her wet coat in his laundry. When she returned she sat down at her desk and said, ‘How do people manage to stay married for sixty-five years?’
‘Don’t ask me, I only did eight and a half. They have to stay alive for starters,’ he added.
‘Mum and Rupe probably would if they have enough time. They’re sickeningly happy.’
‘They’d make all sorts of records if they got to sixty-five years together,’ Arlo said as he scrolled through the results of another Linda Karas search.
‘Yeah, they’d both be about a hundred and eight. What are you doing?’
‘Research. You know Mia Petros is in town? She’s staying at the house.’
‘The house?’
He nodded.
‘How can she sleep there?’
‘She said it doesn’t bother her. She never lived there.’
‘Maybe but still … that’s weird. Two people died in the kitchen. Her father …’
‘Do you think it’s haunted?’ he asked straight-faced.
She gave him a scathing look. ‘Don’t be mad. Do you?’
‘No, but there’s something … I spoke to her today. I was expecting her to tell me to piss off but she didn’t.’
‘Used your charm on her, did you?’
‘No, well yes, but she wanted to talk to me. I said I’d like to do a piece on her father to help redress the balance of public opinion in town.’
‘Is that a good idea? The man was a murderer and making excuses for him … I don’t know. When that sort of thing happens you always read statements from people like “He was so nice. I worked with him for years and he was a great guy” as if their opinion negates what the guy did—attacked his ex-girlfriend and beat her to death because she dumped him. They obviously have no idea what the guy was really like and how could they? Some of these men are really cunning. And they lie. No-one knows what really goes on inside a marriage. Believe me, I know.’
‘I’m not intending to make excuses.’ He did believe her. Georgia knew better than anyone how cunning a criminal could be. She’d lived with one and suffered the consequences.
‘Good, because making excuses for them as if they couldn’t help it and should be pitied makes me really angry. Where’s the innocent victim in all of that?’
‘But what about the reason Tony did it? This is different. We know this wasn’t a case of a bitter, frustrated man spurned by a woman he loved and wanting revenge, or a woman dumping a guy she didn’t want to see any more and being stalked. Or the act of a twisted psychopath. This marriage was happy, these two were happy together. Glenda had a big support network—the whole town would rise up in her defence—and she was a strong independent woman. If he’d been abusive she’d say so. If this really was a case of depression, of mental illness, Tony needed help.’
‘Plenty of people get depressed but don’t kill other people.’
‘And they need help too.’
‘The whole thing is hideously sad,’ Georgia said after a moment. ‘I liked him. Not that I knew him well but I did that interview with him in the piece we did on newcomers to town. I guess if you focus on the mental illness, help needed aspect it shouldn’t upset people.’
‘That’s right. The last thing I want to do is condone his actions in any way. Pull out that article, will you, and anything else you can find in other newspapers, online or TV? And go through all your photos and see if you have any of him we can use.’
The tragedy had created a mild stir of interest but didn’t go nationwide for more than a day or two.
Photos. The funerals. Georgia had taken photos at both funerals. Mia could easily point out Linda Karas. He found the file and scrolled through till he found Tony’s funeral. Mia was there looking very alone, her body stiff and reserved, aloof. There were several shots of her speaking to locals including John Helger, but he was looking for unfamiliar faces. Tony was fifty-eight when he died, his daughter would be mid-thirties at most so he must have been very young, around twenty-two or three, when she was born and twenty-eight or nine when his wife died. Depending how quickly he moved on, ‘Aunty Linda’ would be at the very least, ten years older than Mia, minimum of around forty-five now. Right.
He isolated four possibilities and sent them to his phone.
‘How would someone get away with murder disguised as suicide in a case like this?’
‘What?’ Georgia looked up in surprise. ‘Do you think they were murdered?’
‘I doubt it very much but one of his old girlfriends told the police she was sure it was murder. It does happen you know. Probably more often than has been uncovered.’
‘That’s a whole other story to what I thought we were talking about,’ she said indignantly then grinned. ‘I knew you’d get bored with small-town news.’
‘I’m not bored. Covering the primary school sports day and the CWA doings is fascinating.’
‘Sure is.’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a chat with the woman. Her name is Linda Karas.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Not sure. Sydney maybe. I’ll ask Mia.’
‘What about your piece on Tony?’
‘It’s all background. Have you finished the piece on Les and Sal?’
‘You keep interrupting me.’
***
Mia continued packing her father’s clothes into plastic bin bags after Arlo left. Glenda’s parents had taken all her personal things along with photographs of her children and anything that came from her childhood and her life before she met Tony. They left photos with him in them, including the wedding album. They left anything tainted by his existence.
When Glenda’s stern-faced father, Paul, had approached her at the funeral to tell her they’d be clearing the house of her possessions as soon as they were allowed, Mia hadn’t objected. She wanted nothing, yet here she was surrounded by the contents of a house she now owned. The house was in his name, and a car which she’d sold as soon as she was legally allowed. The money went to a charity.
Paul had patted her arm awkwardly and told her that his family held her no grudge and he was sorry she’d lost her father. But he also said they wanted no more contact with her. No more reminders. ‘Glenda’s mother couldn’t cope,’ he said. ‘You understand.’ And she’d nodded. She did understand.
The clothes she was bundling smelled musty and some had moth holes. The whole lot should go to the dump. She’d already contacted a charity to collect the furniture and the crockery and cutlery but they’d been vague about the pick-up. There were two boxed sets of wine glasses and six champagne flutes which she’d probably keep as a memento along with the photographs.
She was lugging the full bags to the laundry, ready to pack into her car when someone knocked on the door. She peeped through the front window and caught a glimpse of a green sleeve and blue jeans. Arlo. Why so soon? Her breath quickened then slowed to normal.
‘Hello again,’ he said when she opened the door.
‘Hello.’ A black umbrella was propped against the wall under the porch.
‘Are you up to answering a few more questions? It won’t take long, I promise.’
In answer she stepped back and he came in dripping water.
He took the coat off. ‘Sorry. I’ll leave it outside.’
She held out her hand. ‘I’ll hang it in the bathroom.’
‘Thanks.’ When she came back he’d taken off his shoes and stood waiting in black socks, phone in hand.
‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘My shoes were muddy. You don’t want my footprints across your floor.’
‘I’m going to have this place renovated. Rip the kitchen out. Some of it.’
He nodded at that. ‘I see. Oh well.’
‘Don’t you have a car?’ she asked with the merest hint of a smile.
‘Seems silly to drive two blocks.’
Sillier than walking in the pouring rain? ‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘Linda Karas. Can you point her out in these photos?’ He held out a phone which showed photos from the funeral.
‘Who took these? Did you? You were supposed to be there as a mourner not as a member of the press.’
‘Georgia, my assistant, did. She’s my photographer and new to town so she didn’t know either of them very well but she did interview Tony once for a piece we did. She liked him.’
Mia studied him for a moment then looked at the photo carefully. The woman pictured was the wife of an old friend of her father’s.
‘Not her,’ she said and scrolled to the next. ‘Or her. I don’t know who that is.’
Linda was in the next one. Round and comfortable, her blonde hair piled on her head and her make-up flawless as usual. She’d worn bright red, unlike most of the other mourners who’d chosen subdued colours.
‘That’s Linda.’ She handed the phone back.
‘The lady in red,’ he said. ‘I remember her.’
‘She said Dad liked her in red, said it suited her personality.’
‘Dangerous?’ He cocked an eyebrow and again, she almost smiled.
‘Flamboyant. Why are you interested in Linda?’
‘Because Rupe, the local policeman, said she insisted at the time that Tony hadn’t done it, that they’d both been murdered.’
‘I know. She said it to me too.’
‘What did you think? What do you think?’ He wasn’t laughing or scoffing.
This was it. Now was her chance. He was interested and he was a reporter with a nose for getting at the truth.
‘Sit down, please.’ She gestured to the sitting room on their left and he went in without hesitation, and sat on the couch. She sat in the chair she’d occupied earlier.
How would he react? She plunged on.
‘I thought she was in denial, like me, but a few days, maybe a week, afterwards, I had a dream. I was walking up to the door of their house looking forward to having dinner and a glass of wine because I’d driven all day to get there. It was raining, not hard but drizzly, and coloured light from the stained glass in the door fell across the porch.’ A frown flitted across his face and she knew why. The door of this house had no stained glass in it and it hadn’t been raining that night. ‘I raised my hand to ring the bell but before I could I heard a gunshot then another and another. I turned and ran to the street and the gunshots went on and on. I was petrified. I hid behind a car and called triple 0 but I saw something moving by the side of the house, in the driveway. A figure. Then the operator answered and I woke up.’
Arlo rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘Do you think Linda put that idea in your head?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you think it means anything? Your dream?’
‘I don’t know … but I have the same dream, exactly the same dream, about three times a week.’
‘Since the funeral?’ His forehead creased in surprise as his eyebrows rose.
‘Yes.’
‘That must be …’
‘I think I’m going crazy.’ To her annoyance her voice shook. If she started crying he’d think she was a hysterical nut job. She had to convince him this was way out of her normal mode of existence. ‘I’m not psychic and I don’t believe in ghosts or visions or séances or any of that stuff,’ she said firmly.
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘But you can’t explain this, can you?’
‘No.’ Again her voice betrayed her and she had to curl her fingers into tight fists to prevent herself breaking down. ‘I’ve never had anything remotely like this happen to me before.’
‘You’ve never lost your father before either,’ he said gently.
‘No.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone about it? A doctor? A counsellor?’
She shook her head unable to risk speaking. His voice was unbearably kind and understanding. He must have dealt with shocked people in the wake of terrible tragedies in his line of work. He’d know how to empathise. How to extract information.
‘I’ll make tea,’ he said. ‘Stay there.’
***
Arlo filled the electric jug, switched it on and opened cupboards, all empty, until he found the teabags and two lonely mugs. As he waited it dawned on him this was the scene of the crime. He looked around carefully but it was a perfectly normal kitchen, a bit dated but functional. Glenda had been slumped against the fridge, Tony on the floor in the doorway as if he’d walked in and shot her as she went about cleaning up after dinner, and then taken his own life where he stood. The dishwasher had been on, the kitchen sponge still damp from wiping down the benches, Shannon had told him. She’d arrived minutes after Rupe.
Contrary to the dream only two shots were fired with no more bullets left in the gun. And where was that stained glass panelled door? Her childhood home? The Balmain house? But she’d recognise that as being her own home.
Mia appeared in the doorway. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. He even took a step towards her but the jug clicked off and he turned his back and finished making the tea with hands that trembled.
‘Do you think I’m mad?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not.’
She opened the fridge and took out milk.
‘It isn’t this house in the dream, is it?’
‘Not the door, no, but I know it’s where my parents live, and I’m always looking forward to going in.’ She poured milk into her tea. He shook his head when she offered.
‘Could it be another house you’ve lived in?’
‘It’s not the house I’m in now. I don’t remember our Melbourne house or much about where we lived when we first moved to Sydney. I was too young. Does it matter?’
‘Probably not. Dreams are full of odd details, aren’t they? Mixed up, random things you can’t identify.’
She nodded. ‘I have a really strong feeling of familiarity though, in the dream. The light is welcoming and I know it’s home. And the window is familiar even though I don’t remember the pattern properly. Just the colours and that it has flowers.’
‘Did you regard Glenda as a parent?’
She shook her head. ‘I liked her but no … she wasn’t a substitute mother. I didn’t know her well enough and I’m too old to need a mother.’
He absorbed that information. Could she be remembering that first home in Melbourne where she lived with both her real parents? Was it possible to track down the address? ‘A lot of old houses have stained glass panels.’
‘I know. Mine does but in the wall across the top of the door not in it.’
‘What about the symbol?’
‘On this front door? I don’t know where that came from. It wasn’t here before.’
‘I think it was done recently by our local …’
‘Local what?’
‘Eccentric. Don’t worry she’s harmless. Can you tell who the person is? The figure you see?’
‘No, it’s dark and wet. I almost stand up and call out for help but my legs are too weak.’
‘So in the dream you don’t associate that person with the crime, as the murderer?’
‘No. It’s odd, isn’t it? But who else could it be?’
‘Very odd and it wasn’t raining that night.’
‘I know.’
Arlo leaned against the bench and sipped the tea. She was clearly deeply disturbed, holding herself together with an effort of will. For someone who spent her days devising and analysing complex financial strategies, making logical calculations, this would be as foreign as her world was to him.
‘I’m no psychologist,’ he said. ‘But it sounds as though your brain is trying to make sense of the tragedy.’
‘By shifting the blame from my father to another person? I know. I’m not an idiot.’
‘But …’ He paused. Rupe wouldn’t be happy with what he was about to say, quite the reverse. And did he really want to get involved in this? It would stir up trouble, that was for sure, and some people would be furious and hurt. That had never stopped him before, in his previous life, but then he wasn’t at home, he’d been in foreign countries surrounded by people he had no ties to. He had to live here and ride out the aftermath.
He’d come to Taylor’s Bend with the express purpose of becoming a small-town journo covering local doings. To change his life. To forget.
‘But what?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to explore all the possibilities.’ He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke and was rewarded by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It was as though a light had been turned on making her glow from within. She pressed fingers to her eyes and wiped away moisture but the smile never dimmed and he had to smile back despite the churning in his gut.
‘Thank you, Arlo,’ she said.