Fin rubbed her face and pressed her fingers against her eyelids. She had to think for a moment before she remembered where she was. Katoomba. Today she was going to finish packing the last of Gracie’s possessions then she’d go and speak to one of the local real estate agents about selling the house. She’d pestered Robbie to do something about selling the house at Gracie’s funeral but he’d said he was busy and couldn’t afford the time. Busy with what?
The curtains were drawn but through the cracks she could tell it was morning. Fin checked her watch — 6.30 am. She threw back the bedclothes, took a deep breath and tried to steady her heartbeat. Something wasn’t right. She looked at what she was wearing. Why was she still dressed in last night’s clothes? She looked across at her shoes by the bedroom door — wet and muddied. Something’s wrong. Something bad has happened.
Fin got out of bed and caught herself in the full-length mirror on the oak wardrobe. Mascara smears trailed across her cheeks. Her face was pale and drawn. Where had she been last night? She grabbed her handbag from the bedside table. Her purse was still there and so were her credit cards and a fifty-dollar note. She searched for her phone and found it under her pillow. She had three missed calls. No caller ID for any of them. She checked her voicemail.
Adam had left a message at eleven-twenty last night. He was shouting. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Fin? I can’t believe what just happened. Just stay away from me. Don’t phone me and don’t come around to the restaurant looking for me. For Christ’s sake, you have to stop drinking. It’s caused enough trouble.’
What trouble? Was he talking about her losing her job? Or something else? Robbie had been worried about her drinking and blackouts, too. Fin didn’t think she’d been drinking that much, at least not enough to cause her to blackout. Where was she last night? What had she done? She sank back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling.
She had no memory of the night Robbie died, either. What if she’d been there? Maybe they had a fight. Could she have pushed him? Bile rose and she forced it back down again. She remembered the wet and muddy clothes on the floor when the police had come to her apartment. Once again her muddy shoes told a story, but what? The last thing she remembered was driving down the highway to the Alexandria Hotel, about an hour after she’d checked in. She’d suddenly had to escape the confines of her room. At the Alexandria, a live band had been playing. She’d a few drinks and…
Fin walked up the steps to the front door of Robbie’s cottage and unlocked the door with her spare key. She sat down on the sofa and looked around the sitting room.
It was dark outside. She checked the breech of Robbie’s gun, tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. She didn’t know how she’d got Robbie’s gun from the metal box where he kept it, but she’d found it in her bedside drawer the morning after his death and she’d been hiding it ever since. Robbie had brought the gun home after work to use on Patrick Hill to show him Robbie meant business.
Fin turned the television set on, sat down on the sofa and waited.
The alarm beeped on her watch. It was time to go. She locked the cottage, crossed the park and walked towards the clock tower. She thought it strange that the clock tower had been built without a clock; perhaps the patients hadn’t wanted to be reminded of lost time.
Fin followed the path through to the courtyard and stood in the shadows. A dog barked and she knew Patrick Hill was close. She reached into her backpack and removed a small, wispy feather from a box. She held it tightly between her fingertips.
‘It’s a terrible night to be out,’ Patrick Hill said.
The leaves on the nearby trees shook on their branches. A quarter moon was rising and she could just make out his features. She wanted to run at him, end it now, but she’d waited for this moment for too long, planned everything so perfectly, to ruin it now by her impatience.
‘I want to talk to you, Fin. Set it right between us,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw you. I think you were fourteen when I left. You probably don’t believe me, but I’m sorry.’
Sorry? Is that all you can say? After what you did to my family and me.
‘You must think I ruined your life. And if I was in any way responsible for what happened to Robbie, I promise I’ll make it up to you.’
Fin was silent. How could he possibly make up for the loss of her family?
‘It’s too late for Robbie, but not for you. With the money you’ll get from your grandmother’s and Robbie’s estates, I can help you invest it. I wanted to talk to you about some ideas I’ve got.’
Fin didn’t answer. She didn’t want to spoil the surprise she had waiting for him.
‘I want to try to set things right between us.’ He shifted from foot to foot. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, especially now Robbie’s gone,’ he said. ‘I think we can be family again, just like the old days.’
The old days? Fin shuddered.
‘The key,’ Fin said in a voice that was not her own. She pulled the hood of her navy rain jacket further down over her eyes.
Patrick searched for the key on his key ring. ‘Here it is.’ His hand shook when he handed it to her.
‘Can’t we talk here?’ Patrick asked. ‘Why do we have to go up the tower? I’m not a young man.’
Fin didn’t reply. The key turned smoothly in the lock; she handed the keys back to him and pushed against the door.
‘Wait,’ he said.
Fin ignored him and started climbing the stairs. Stopped.
‘Fin, wait. Please.’
She hesitated, but then heard his footsteps behind. When she reached the top, she pulled out Robbie’s gun and ran the palm of her hand over the dull plastic grip. A shudder ran through her, which had nothing to do with the sharp wind blowing through the arches.
Patrick took the last of the steps, his breathing laboured. Fin raised the gun and pointed it at him. He froze.
‘Everything looks perfectly normal from here, doesn’t it, Uncle Patrick? Look out there. Everybody going about their business. Nobody has any idea you’re about to die. Within about two minutes, I reckon.’
Patrick took a step towards her. ‘What the hell are you up to?’
Fin ignored him. ‘If Robbie hadn’t found out you’d changed your name to Hill and were on a paedophile watch list, you wouldn’t be standing here, and neither would I.’
There was confusion and fear in Patrick’s eyes. Fin pulled the hood back from her face. She took a step back from him and aimed the gun at the middle of his forehead.
‘For Christ’s sake, Fin, is this your idea of some sick joke?’
‘It’s no joke.’ Fin laughed. ‘I’m fucking serious.’
‘Put the gun down. Let’s talk. I’m sure we can fix whatever’s worrying you.’
‘What’s worrying me! As if you don’t know. Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You ruined my life; ruined Robbie’s life and you killed my parents. And now, it’s time for you to die. To finally pay.’
‘Fin, I’m sorry. I was weak, I never meant to; it was the drink.’ Patrick held his hands out to her, palms facing up.
‘Shut up, you sick bastard.’ She waved the gun at him. ‘Gracie told Robbie everything before she died. Told him you were driving the night of the car accident. How you were drunk and drove our parents’ car off the road. Gracie covered for you because she didn’t want you to go to prison.’
‘Let me explain. Please, Fin.’
‘It’s too late for explanations.’
Patrick gasped for air, held his chest with one hand. He stepped backwards, tripped, leaned up against the wall, head bowed. He tried to stand upright, but didn’t have the strength after climbing the stairs.
Fin maintained her position — feet apart just like Robbie had shown her — but her hands were shaking.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Patrick’s voice was weak. ‘I’ll give you money. You can go away, make a new life for yourself. There’s no need to kill me.’
Fin stared at Patrick then looked down at the gun. Wasn’t this what Robbie wanted? Compensation for the pain Patrick had caused?
‘The money from Robbie’s and Gracie’s estates and Robbie’s life insurance policy will be more than enough. I don’t need your filthy money.’
‘What about the police, then? That woman detective, she’ll work out what you’re up to.’
Fin didn’t answer him.
Patrick slipped to the ground. Had he fainted? Died? Or maybe he was faking it. It was too dark to tell. She kept the gun out and walked slowly toward him. Once she was close enough, she jabbed him with her foot. He let out a little groan. He looked so pathetic, slumped across the uneven brickwork.
She hadn’t planned for this. She tucked the gun into her waistband and put two fingers on his neck. His pulse was weak, but he was still alive. Maybe he’d had a heart attack. He sure had been puffing at the top of the stairs, and then she’d pulled the gun.
She kicked him. He moaned and his lips moved, at first soundlessly and then she could make out her name. Was it to hear his dying confession? Fin wasn’t interested; she had to get him to his feet. She checked her watch. Adam would be here soon.
‘Come on, get up.’ She wrapped his limp arm around her neck and an arm around his waist. His eyes were half-closed. Fin whispered, ‘If you can get downstairs, I’ll call an ambulance. I promise.’ Fin looked at her watch. With each passing second her heart was beating faster, pumping with adrenaline. He wasn’t fighting her now, the promise of calling an ambulance did the trick.
After they took the last step, Fin guided him through the door and leaned him against the tower wall. He collapsed from the effort and Fin managed to ease him down the wall so he was in a sitting position with his legs splayed open. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and gave a rattled groan before his eyes fluttered shut and his head slumped forward.
Fin felt for a pulse. Patrick Hill was dead.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a white feather. She looked at it for a moment. ‘Coward.’ Fin opened Patrick’s mouth and slipped the feather onto his tongue. She stared down at his limp body. It was done now, finished with. She searched Patrick’s pockets for his wallet. If she took that, maybe the police would think it was a robbery gone wrong. She found it and tucked it into the pocket of her rain jacket. Fin wondered what she should do next. She hadn’t thought beyond this moment.
Adam Lee entered the courtyard by the eastern entrance avoiding the CCTV cameras, the way Fin had told him to. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone and saw Fin standing by the tower. She was looking down at a lump on the ground. It was only when he got closer that he realised it was a body.
‘Adam?’
He walked up to her and saw that it was Patrick Hill. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s dead. I only meant to frighten him, I didn’t think he would have a heart attack and die on me.’
‘Stupid bitch! Give me the gun and get out of here. I’m sick of tidying up your messes.’
Fin pushed herself off the bed. Nagging pangs of hunger played havoc with her stomach. Had she eaten last night? If she forced herself to eat something maybe the waves of nausea would pass. She changed her clothes without showering and went downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant. She didn’t have much time. It was a ten-minute drive to Gracie’s house. If she worked steadily she would back in Sydney by late afternoon. She didn’t want to stay in the Mountains another night.
She stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. She felt dizzy again. She wanted to lie down but she knew she had to eat and get over to Gracie’s house. The Salvation Army was coming at nine to collect the last of Gracie’s furniture. Fin had kept a couple of things aside, thinking she might make room for them in her apartment, but there were too many memories.
Fin joined the handful of people eating breakfast early. A large, energetic woman who Fin took to be the proprietor dashed to and fro between the kitchen and the reception desk, stopping to chat and joke with the guests. She gave Fin a quick smile and said hello when she walked past her table. The warmth from the open fire did nothing to ease the fear or Fin’s thumping headache. She looked around the room. Her eyes settled on the couple at the next table. Fin looked at him, ignored her. He reminded Fin of Robbie, that particular way he had of spooning his cereal into his mouth and the way he tilted his head to one side when he laughed.
Fin blinked hard. Robbie was gone. She dug her nails into her palms, while tears stung her cheeks. She distracted herself by looking at the walls covered in subdued wallpaper and the timber table, which was sticky and thickly lacquered. It wasn’t like the pub she’d stopped at in Lapstone. There were no poker machines or pool tables, no posters advertising Tuesday steak nights or trivia nights. She studied the breakfast menu and decided on eggs and toast.
A waiter poured coffee into her cup. He put a jug of milk and sachets of sugar down on the table, smiled at her but she didn’t smile back — she didn’t know why she should. She looked around the room and then fixed on the television. Video footage of Callan Park was on the screen. Someone turned the sound up. Ticker information scrolling the bottom of the screen caught her attention as much as the pictures being shown of the clock tower. ‘Another death at Callan Park.’ The words scrolled on and she listened to the news announcer. ‘Patrick Hill,’ he was saying, ‘the dog walker who found the body of a police officer in Callan Park a week ago, was found dead early this morning in the grounds of Callan Park. He was discovered by a teenager on his way to work…’