Flashpoint (11 page)

Cam's previous impression of Anne Smithson had been of a quiet composed woman, more than happy to shelter under the protective wing of her overbearing husband. But away from him now, and in her own comfort zone, she was articulate and talkative, barely drawing breath as she showed him and Ruby around the school.

She seemed to have a warm nature, and showed genuine interest in Ruby's welfare. It was reassuring to know that despite the tension of the last few days, Anne Smithson was treating him like any other new school parent.

The school tour had come to an end and it was time to complete the business end of Ruby's enrolment. Ruby lagged further and further behind as they walked the long corridor to the registrar's office.

Out of earshot, Mrs Smithson took the opportunity to whisper, ‘I read Ruby's last school report and I want to point out that she will be starting Glenroyd Ladies' College with a clean slate. If it helps, I do have an understanding of what you have both been through.'

Cam was touched by the sincerity of her tone. She took a business card from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. ‘This is the name and phone number of the school counsellor. She's very good.' She hesitated. ‘It often helps to talk about these things.'

Cam glanced down at the card then back to the principal. Was she speaking from experience? Did he see hidden pain in the depths of those grey eyes, or was it purely an empathic response to his own?

They stopped at the door marked registrar and waited for Ruby to catch up. He became aware of a strange pulsing sound coming from behind the closed door: the squawk of an exotic bird, monkeys, waterfalls, and rhythmic drums. Surely these soothing rainforest sounds would have drowned out Mrs Smithson's gentle knock? Cam had the sudden urge to laugh, imagining the New Age schoolmarm behind the door, resplendent in kaftan and beads or maybe a silk turban with a long feather. GLC had changed more than he'd imagined.

Elizabeth, if you could only see us now.

Ruby finally sloped over to join them. Whatever she thought of the music she gave no indication of it. He thought he might make her giggle if he could only catch her eye, but her arms were crossed, her face its usual mask of sullen indifference. She'd been the same for most of the tour until they'd reached the gym and started to search the honour boards for Elizabeth's name. When they'd found it her face had brightened, but only for a moment. Now the mask was back on and Cam didn't feel like laughing any more. He wondered if girls were ever turned down on the strength of these interviews.

Mrs Smithson glanced at her watch, then back to the closed door with a look of veiled annoyance. ‘She can be a bit unorthodox at times, but she has a wonderful way with the girls,' she said by way of an apology.

She knocked louder and the music abruptly stopped.

Cam knew he would be coming across Jo Bowman at some time or another at the commencement of the school term, but he hadn't considered that it might be now. What goes around comes around, Ms Bowman, he thought, with a small amount of anticipatory pleasure.

But her demeanour was calm and she met his eyes with a pleasant smile. He soon realised she was not going to give him the satisfaction of showing any embarrassment over the incident in the science lab.

‘Mr Fraser, let me introduce you to Jo Bowman. She's not our usual registrar but is filling in for Mrs Godfrey who's still on holiday. Miss Bowman is head of English and also our vice principal.'

Jo smiled again, shaking his hand.

Mrs Smithson continued, ‘Oh of course, you've met, at the . . .' And then a strange thing happened. She began to bite at her bottom lip, as if fighting to retain her composure, as if the mere memory of the crime scene was a Pavlovian trigger for some kind of an anxiety attack.

‘At the crime scene, yes,' said Cam.

Mrs Smithson said, ‘I really should go now. I'm supposed to be meeting Jeffrey.'

Jo put a reassuring hand on the small of her back. ‘It's all right, Anne,' she said, guiding her a small way down the corridor. ‘I can take care of the rest.'

Mrs Smithson gave Jo a weak smile of gratitude before excusing herself. Cam watched her as she walked away, concerned at the sudden change in her demeanour. Even Ruby had lost some of her self-absorption and looked confused. When their eyes met, he gave her a small shrug.

Jo invited them in to her bright airy office and sat down with them on chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of her desk. They discussed subject choices, books and uniforms. Ruby's brief sojourn in the world around her had ended and she resumed her expression of boredom, fixing her gaze upon the view from the window.

Cam tried to involve Ruby in the conversation
with frequent questions and jocular comments. But when he fished for enthusiasm she responded with a shrug; when he tried for a smile she screwed up her exposed toes as if enduring tremendous physical pain.

It was all becoming very wearing.

With an increasing feeling of unease Cam became aware that Jo Bowman was regarding him with the same kind of relaxed detachment with which he'd viewed her at the crime scene. Now it was her turn to assess and observe and the feeling made him uncomfortable. The look she was giving him was the kind you gave someone who was endeavouring to complete an impossible task; ten out of ten for effort but better luck next time.

She handed him a pile of forms to fill out, watching as he struggled with the pen. Constricting scar tissue impeded the flexibility of his fingers and the pen kept slipping from his grasp. He gave up, and passed the forms to Ruby. A strange half-smile lingered on his daughter's lips as she wrote.

In the ensuing silence his gaze fell to the tramline creases of his best pants, then the soap scum on his otherwise clean dark blue shirt. Licking his finger he began to worry at a white patch on the sleeve. When he looked up Jo was watching him.

‘You caught me,' he said with a self-conscious smile.

She smiled back. ‘I have that problem all the time. That's why I wear lighter colours.'

She was wearing an elegant pale blue skirt suit, a style that Elizabeth would have loved, though it did not seem as comfortable on Jo as it would have been on his wife. The shoulders looked lopsided and the skirt was slightly twisted as if she was happier in jeans and cheesecloth. Maybe even a kaftan. He remembered the music and smiled to himself. Elizabeth had only
ever listened to classical.

Finished with the forms, Ruby was looking at the framed animal photographs on the walls. For the first time today he caught the flicker of interest in her eyes.

Jo noticed also. ‘Are you interested in photography, Ruby?' she asked, giving his daughter a look he couldn't fathom.

‘I like the animals,' Ruby said with her own secretive smile. She got up from her chair to examine one of the pictures, tapping at the glass with a long painted fingernail. ‘What's that?'

‘Funny looking, isn't it?' replied Jo, standing up to join her. ‘It's a very young joey. When I rescued it from its dead mother it was smaller than the palm of my hand, its skin was almost transparent. We kept it in a heated esky in the science lab. Every week I took a photo of it and the science teacher tabled its development with the girls. No one thought it would live, but it did, and I let it go back into the wild last year.'

‘Cool,' Ruby said.

Jo glanced at Cam and smiled.

‘What about that one?' Ruby pointed to another picture.

‘That's a puggle. A baby echidna.'

‘They lay eggs and suckle their young like platypus,' Ruby said to Cam as if dipping into a well of knowledge he could never hope to attain.

‘That one there – ' Jo pointed to the neighbouring photo – ‘is my pride and joy, photographically speaking.' Cam got up from his chair to join them. He saw an elegant, streamlined creature standing on a rock, silhouetted by moonlight, staring across a silver dam.

‘A fox?' he asked, incredulous. ‘They're usually shot
on sight around here.'

‘Dad!' said Ruby. She shook her head and raised her eyes at Jo to indicate he was beyond hope.

‘It may be just a fox to you, Mr Fraser, but it took a whole week to get that photo. I had to build a hide and stake the dam out every evening until I caught him coming down to drink. I think every mozzie in the district came down to join in the bloodfest.'

She laughed. He liked the sound of her laughter; it had an infectious quality to which even Ruby had warmed.

Ruby forgave his insensitive remark about the fox, gracing him with a condescending smile. ‘That's what the
National Geographic
photographers do,' she said. ‘Sometimes they have to hide out for weeks just to get the right shots.'

He nodded to her superior wisdom.

Jo addressed them both. ‘Would you like to come and have a look at the photographic lab? Ruby might like to choose photography as one of her electives.'

Ruby's face brightened. Cam felt his spirits lift.

‘Before we go, do you have any more administrative questions?' Jo asked.

Cam shook his head. Ruby looked at him for a moment, then at Jo with a mischievous gleam to her eye. Cam knew the look and prepared to make a snappy retort.

‘I'm going to be getting a belly button ring. What's the policy on body piercing here?'

The room was dark and stifling. Jo flicked on the air conditioning unit and pulled up the heavy black blinds, letting the sunlight stream in. ‘It doesn't take much to convert this into a darkroom big enough to hold twenty working students,' she explained. ‘It's only temporary. Jeffrey's planning on building a permanent photo lab soon.'

Cam blinked in the harsh light. At the end of the room was a trough-like sink, above this, shelves of photographic chemicals. With contagious enthusiasm Jo explained the functions of the various pieces of photographic equipment leaning against the walls or sitting upon the shelves. Soon she and Ruby were poring over proofs and photo albums, talking about light and shadows, shutter speeds and animal hides.

Cam sank with relief into an old armchair and closed his eyes, only half listening to their conversation. The rise and fall of emotions over the last few days had taken their toll; he had been bombarded with so much information his brain could barely process it, and exhaustion was setting in. And now with the murder at the school, his two main areas of concern were overlapping in the middle like a Venn diagram.

The autopsy had shown that Herbert Bell had died from fresh water drowning. Cam had delegated Constable Pete Dowel to coordinate a search of local waterways for evidence of the primary crime scene. Given the number of dams, ponds and creeks in the area, not to mention the river that flowed through town, this was no small task. Even with the help of the local State Emergency Service, they would need a small miracle to find the right body of water. And if
they did happen to hit upon it, the chances of finding any useful evidence in the deteriorating outdoor crime scene were slim. But the search still had to be attempted. Cam had suggested they search in an outward radius from the patch of school bushland where the body was discovered.

He had no doubt there was a connection between the school and the death of Herbert Bell. Whether it was circumstantial or more sinister remained to be seen.
Conflict of interest!
a voice cried out in his head. Should he really be sending Ruby to this school?
Yes
, another voice answered. This is what Elizabeth would have wanted. Even her parents had agreed with the idea, and that was no mean feat. He was not often on the same wavelength as his in-laws.

And besides, the Herbert Bell case had nothing to do with Ruby.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the splinter of paranoia that had settled there. Glancing at his watch he realised it was time to return to the station and tackle the mountain of paperwork Vince's suspension had generated. And there were still uniforms and books to buy.

He extracted his protesting daughter from the mess of proofs she and Jo had strewn over one of the work tables, and when Jo gave Ruby an open invitation to her house to view some more of her work, she accepted with alacrity. Cam was pleased; maybe such a diversion would take her mind off that Angelo boy.

He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, handed Ruby some notes and told her to go and find the uniform shop. He was expecting a sour look of protest and was surprised when she jumped off the step and began skipping down the path.

‘Try and be quick about it, love, I've got to get back
to work,' he called out. Eyeing her skimpy outfit he added, ‘And don't forget you're still growing. Make sure you get clothes that'll give you plenty of room.'

Ruby pretended she hadn't heard and disappeared around the corner. Jo looked at him and smiled. ‘You've no need to worry about that, Mr Fraser,' she said.

‘Cam. Please.'

‘Cam. Mrs Farrel at the uniform shop won't let her get away with anything that's too small.'

‘That's a relief. Everything she wears seems too small to me.'

Jo laughed. ‘It's the fashion, Cam. All the girls dress like that these days, it's not just Ruby.'

Cam hesitated, half in and half out of the demountable, unsure whether he should catch up with Ruby or leave her to her own devices. Jo solved the dilemma by asking him back inside and putting the kettle on. After making the coffee she cleared some junk off a couple of chairs and they sat down.

‘I didn't want to mention this in front of Ruby, but I should have those photos ready for you tonight. I would have done them sooner, but it's been a hectic couple of days.' She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back in her chair.

Cam tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

‘You know,' she smiled. ‘The photos I took of the dead body.' She took in his puzzled look. ‘Didn't I tell you? I thought I had. What with one thing and another . . .'

‘You took photos?' Now he'd heard everything.

‘You're looking at me as if I'm some kind of ghoul,' she said with a laugh. ‘I worked for a while as a photographic journalist – we're trained to shoot first, ask questions later. Photographers have to be opportunistic;
you never know what you might miss if you hesitate.' She frowned when he blew out his cheeks. ‘I thought you'd be pleased.'

He slapped his hands on his thighs, lost for words. ‘I am pleased,' he said. ‘I just wish you'd told me earlier.'

‘I thought you had police photographers for that. I didn't think mine would make much difference.'

‘We do, but when they took their photos, the body was not in its original position.'

‘Of course, that's right; mine show him on his side. Well, at least they'll prove to you that I was telling the truth.'

Cam smiled, and not only because this woman seemed to have that effect on him; the photos would be invaluable to the case he was building against Vince. ‘I didn't doubt you for a moment,' he said.

‘So – tonight, is that OK?'

‘Tonight will be fine.' He took a sip of his coffee. It was hot and strong, just how he liked it.

‘Would you mind if I asked you a few more questions, Ms Bowman?'

‘Not at all, as long as you call me Jo. What cap are you putting on, cop or father?'

‘Cop.' Cam chuckled. ‘It fits better.'

His gaze drifted around the photo lab. Something had caught his eye earlier and he wanted clarification. He stood up and moved towards a glass-doored cabinet, squinting at the photos pegged across a line of string, like clothes on a washing line.

‘That's the drying cabinet,' Jo said.

Cam nodded and gestured to the glass door. ‘Do you mind if I take a closer look?'

‘Be my guest.' She got up to join him.

He reached inside the cabinet and removed a photograph depicting the newly renovated area he
and Leanne had explored the previous morning.

‘Those on the line are the before and during photos. I'm going to take the afters when the mess is cleared away, then have them published in the school magazine,' Jo said.

The skips were in the same place, though not as full as when he'd been rummaging around in them, and the scaffolding was still standing. Cam put on his reading glasses and tried to make out a pile of indistinct shapes on the ground near the back door. ‘What's all that?' he said, careful not to touch beyond the edge of the wet photo.

She took the photo from him and stepped closer to look at it, bending her head. Her neck was arched and graceful as a willow branch. He didn't mean to breathe in just then, but he did, catching her scent: fresh, like rainwater on rose petals.

‘I'm not sure, but I think they're boxes of supplies for the labs. The plastic containers are for chemicals. I have similar chemicals in here.' His interest seemed to puzzle her. ‘Do you want to have a look at them?'

He looked at the photo for a moment longer and shook his head, partly to signify no thank you, partly to shake away a longing he did not wish to remember. She clipped the picture back onto the line in the drying cabinet and they returned to their coffee.

Cam took a sip. ‘How well did you know Mr Bell?' he asked.

‘Hardly at all. Lucky for me our paths didn't cross much.'

‘You didn't like him, then?'

‘I have to know someone well to be able to come to a conclusion like that and I had no desire to even get that far. He was a sleazy old drunk who worked in the school grounds. Why Jeffrey even hired him in the
first place beats me. I suppose he was cheap.'

‘You say sleazy. Can you add to that?'

‘It used to worry me how he looked at the girls. Luckily they all got the vibes and kept their distance. He never did them any harm – in fact I think they'll miss him; he was good entertainment value and provided them with a constant source of gossip. They used to call him fruit and veg. You see he wore these really short shorts and when . . .' She decided to go no further and hid her smile with her hand.

Cam nodded, battling to keep a straight face. ‘What do you know about the circumstances of his sacking?'

Jo put her cup down and looked at Cam for a moment. The smile that had been playing at the corners of her mouth turned into a broad grin.

‘I thought you knew all about that. Jeffrey said it was like the Spanish Inquisition in Anne's office yesterday.'

‘It's always handy having more than one version.' Cam hesitated, wondering about her loyalties to Jeffrey Smithson. ‘Do you think Mr Smithson could have hit Mr Bell?'

‘I don't have to think, Cam, I know he did. I was there. Why the puzzled look – I thought you knew that? I don't blame him really. I would have done the same.'

‘You would have hit him because he was drunk?'

Jo let go with a full laugh. ‘Oh my goodness, is that what Jeffrey told you? Poor Jeffrey, he would have been mortified by all this.'

‘I'm lost. Enlighten me.'

Jo took a deep breath. ‘Jeffrey hit Bell in the potting shed because he was caught stealing Anne's underwear from her washing line. I know this because I'm the one who caught him, red-handed. I
reported it to Anne and she got quite upset. Then I told Jeffrey and we confronted Bell in the shed together. Jeffrey was so mad I thought he was going to kill him.' Her hands flew to her mouth when she realised what she had said. ‘Oh my God.'