The Twisted Knot (24 page)

Terry nodded. ‘It's nothing personal. She seemed like a nice enough woman. I couldn't believe I had a crack at a murder pinch so early in my career. Can't believe I fucked it up either.'

Sammi hesitated. ‘I'm kind of glad she's out of here. Yeah, it's murder, but I can't think of anyone more deserving.'

‘It's not over yet,' Terry said, shaking his head again. ‘We know it's her.'

‘What did legal services have to say?'

‘There was some disagreement within their office whether we can arrest for murder when the only body we've got is legally someone else. It's not something that comes up very often, funnily enough. We could have held her though. I got steamrolled.' He sighed loudly.

‘Can't win them all,' Sammi said. That was the most optimistic comment she could muster after the day they'd had. She looked at her watch. She'd had enough of big city excitement and wanted to get back to the Crossing again.

She drove back from Brisbane, with Terry in the passenger's seat making an endless series of sometimes loud and colourful phone calls. She felt uncomfortable listening to Terry trying to explain it all to his boss. Although he swore a lot, to his credit he hardly exaggerated the story at all. How many times would he have to explain himself?

*

The next afternoon, Terry came in with a faxed copy of Barry Woodford's death certificate.

He was taking it all in his stride again after being so flustered the day before. He waved the certificate at her. ‘Guess what? Barry Melvyn Woodford's dead!'

Sammi smiled.

‘The coroner accepted the dental records and Barry Woodford is now officially dead. And Peter Woodford is unofficially missing. I say unofficially because no one has actually reported it. But no one has heard from him since the night that Barry died.'

‘His corpse will turn up somewhere strange twenty years from now,' Sammi said.

‘I called Belinda's solicitor to arrange another interview. He said he'd be in contact with Belinda and will get back to me soon. But I'm a realist so I checked with Customs. Belinda and Nicola flew out to Thailand within hours of her walking out of the watchhouse. So I might be waiting a while for that interview,' Terry said. ‘I arranged for them to flag her. But it's only a local flag. Meaning they'll only be able to let me know if she returns to Australia, not any other movements in the world. And, would you believe, the flag expires after six months. Somehow I think she's going to be a little more patient than that. I was going to flag Belinda's mum too. You can bet your bottom dollar she'll go visit them once they've settled in. Wherever she flies to will give us an indication where Belinda is. But the drama it took to get Belinda, and then Nicola, flagged, I thought the Customs man would hang up on me if I asked for anything else. It's pointless. Even if we know where the mum flies to, it's not like they're going to give me a free trip there and international jurisdiction.' He shrugged and shook his head.

‘She was pretty sharp,' Sammi said. ‘I don't think she really planned any of it. She thought on her feet and took her opportunities.'

‘It was pretty obvious she was going to take off after the interview. It's what I would have done. Start a new life somewhere with her daughter. Somewhere they'll be left alone. Somewhere fresh, no memories. They'll have new passports by now, I reckon. Bangkok. Ever been there? You can buy anything. Maybe I should go there and buy a new career. Because I've fucked this one. Letting a murderer get away. I'll never live it down.'

‘It didn't really turn into the resumé builder you were hoping for,' Sammi said.

‘I guess I'll just have to wait for the next pedophile murder suicide doublecross,' Terry said with a half-smile as he walked back up the corridor to the CIB office.

Epilogue

Sammi and Gavin had chosen Bali for a holiday because it was cheap and convenient, and they both liked the tropical weather. Now, while Gavin was busy with surfing lessons, Sammi strolled along the beach. Cafes and bars dotted the foreshore, and it wasn't unusual to be served by an Australian.

She drew a postcard out of the internal pocket of her backpack and looked at the picture. It was almost identical to the view in front of her. Kuta Beach. A hangout for Australian surfers, where ex-pats came to live the high life. Or lay low. She turned the postcard over and read it one more time. It didn't say much. ‘Great spot for a holiday' in neat block letters written in black marker. She remembered when Mel handed it to her at the station. It had been addressed to her care of Angel's Crossing Police. Mel had given her a funny look, a mixture of curiosity and glee. The author had not signed their name, but like Sammi, Mel had probably recognised the same handwriting they'd last seen on mystery envelopes at the station.

Gavin hadn't suspected anything when Sammi suggested a trip to Bali. Who doesn't want to spend their holidays on the beach?

Sammi found the cafe on the third day. She waited until there were no customers, then walked in with the postcard in her hands. She nearly hadn't recognised the woman behind the counter. Her hair had been dyed and trimmed so short it looked shaved at the back. But it was her arms that gave her away. Although she had lost considerable weight, her forearms were still beefy, looking like they belonged on a pro wrestler, not a middle-aged woman.

There was a girl inside too. She looked both older and younger than the last time Sammi had seen her. She had grown a bit, as if fertilised by the sunshine and sea air. But her face looked younger. Sadness no longer seeped from her and she looked untroubled. Her hair had been plaited through with coloured thread and beads, and she wore a bright tie-dyed top. She was listening to an iPod and dancing in her own private world. She stopped and giggled as she caught her balance against the back of a chair and then she was spinning again, arms and hair flying out from her body. She looked as if she didn't have a care in the world. She looked like an eight-year-old girl should.

She didn't even glance at Sammi, caught up in her own game, and for that Sammi was grateful. She didn't want the girl to recognise her. She did not want to be responsible for chasing away the child's open smile.

It was her mum she wanted to see, anyway.

‘Hi Belinda.'

The woman turned. In an instant, her face went from relaxed and friendly, to shock. She looked left and right quickly.

‘It's okay,' Sammi said in a low voice, barely audible over the hum of the coffee machine. ‘I'm just a tourist on holidays.'

‘My name's Linda now,' the woman said softly. ‘I chose something I would remember to answer to.'

‘I'm glad I recognised you. You look different. But in a good way.'

‘Thanks,' Belinda said with a small smile. She gestured at the postcard in Sammi's hand. ‘I shouldn't have done that. Especially sending it to the police station. But I'd taken so many risks, that little one hardly seemed worth bothering about.'

‘Why did you send it?'

‘It was something in your face when you saw me in the roof cavity. You looked as if you wanted to pretend you didn't see me. And then again in that interview. You looked like you were on my side. And I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to say thank you. Thank you for seeing me as a victim too, thank you for believing I didn't deserve to be locked up.'

‘I'm not meant to say this,' Sammi whispered, ‘being a cop and everything. But I'm glad you got away.'

‘I had to. I had to do it for my daughter.' She balled a tea towel up in her hands. ‘We've started fresh. Left it all behind. There's been some ups and downs, but we're starting to settle into our new life.'

‘Was it hard?'

‘No, it was easier than I expected. We flew straight out to Thailand and bought new passports in Bangkok. Then we took our time and travelled overland and by ferry to get down here. Lots of ex-pats here. It's easy to blend in. When people ask me questions about my past, I make things up. No one gives us a second glance.'

‘Nicola looks happy. I kind of hope she won't recognise me. I'm sure I'd only bring back bad memories,' Sammi said.

‘We've actually found a psychologist here, an Aussie ex-pat. It's another risk, because Nici has told her everything. Well, everything she knows, anyway. I'm sure the psychologist has been reading between the lines. I think she's on our side too after hearing Nici's story. There's still a way to go yet but she's recovered enough for me to be able to feel optimistic about her future. That was the worst part when it happened. The thought that my daughter was damaged, irreparably broken, and would be unable to have a normal adult relationship when the time comes. I kept thinking about Janey, about how it all destroyed her. But Nici has made me so proud.' Belinda crossed her hands across her heart and looked across at her daughter with glassy eyes.

‘You have every reason to be proud. She's been so brave,' Sammi replied.

Belinda smiled. ‘Do you want to know the best part? Peter and Barry paid for this cafe.'

‘How?' Sammi asked, leaning in a fraction.

Belinda broke into a broad grin. ‘Faye. She collected Barry's superannuation and life insurance. Then she sold the house and the farm. She passed the money onto us. She's been an absolute gem.'

Sammi smiled. ‘She certainly did everything she could to make life difficult for the police.'

‘I never really clicked with her when I was, you know, married,' Belinda said. ‘But Nicola is the closest she'll ever get to a granddaughter and Faye simply adores her. I'd love for her to spend some time with Nici after all she's done for her. But she won't fly out to see us. Reckons she's too old. My mum's nearly as old as her and she's been twice already. She loves it.'

‘You can't come back to Australia,' Sammi said quickly. ‘There's a warrant out for your arrest if you return. They got the death certificate sorted out. The toxicology reports showed the tranquillisers in his blood. They found your fingerprints on the “Sorry” note you left in the shed with Barry.'

Belinda laughed but it sounded hollow and tinny, like pebbles in an empty water tank. ‘I don't know why I wrote that note. Maybe that's what I wanted from him. An apology. To know that he felt remorse, that our relationship was worth something to him, that he didn't marry me to get access to my daughter.'

‘I'll never understand how men can do that to a child,' Sammi replied.

‘I'm a bit sad that I can never go home,' Belinda said. ‘But I have my daughter here. We're safe and happy. It's nice here, like being on holidays.' She motioned out at the waves breaking on the long stretch of beach.

Sammi nodded. ‘I'm so happy to see things are going well for you.' She made a half-gesture in Nicola's direction. ‘She deserves a happy childhood.'

Belinda smiled, watching her daughter dance. ‘She amazes me. So strong and resilient.'

‘Like her mum,' Sammi replied.

Belinda gave Sammi an open and genuine smile.

‘I have to know. Did you find Peter?' Belinda asked.

‘No.' Sammi hesitated, then knowing this conversation was exclusively between them, continued. ‘You found him, didn't you?'

‘He's not going to hurt anyone anymore,' Belinda said, a note of ice-cold flint in her tone, even though her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I did it for my daughter. I'd do anything for my daughter,' she replied softly. ‘It's hard to understand if you don't have kids of your own.'

Sammi nodded and couldn't help but smile. ‘I hope to find out. I'm pregnant,' she said, one hand unconsciously moving to her abdomen. ‘About ten weeks.'

A genuine smile burst across Belinda's face. She reached out and enveloped Sammi in an unexpected but whole-hearted hug.

Belinda then held her at arm's length and her smile was joyous despite the tears running down her face.

‘Thanks, Sammi,' she said, her voice hoarse. ‘Thank you for not just seeing everything in black and white. Thanks for seeing the grey as well.'

Sammi swallowed hard and nodded. Belinda turned away, back to the counter.

With one last glance at Nicola dancing, Sammi walked away.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Biggest thanks go to Haylee Nash and Libby Turner at Pan Macmillan for taking a confused and chaotic storyline and coaxing out of it a novel I can be proud of. The first draft really was a twisted knot. Thanks also to all the talented people at Pan Macmillan who helped turn my scribblings into an actual book.

Thanks go to Les Zigomanis who gives editorial feedback so gently that I feel comfortable giving him any old page of rubbish. Apologies, Les, for giving you many pages of rubbish. Thanks also to the rest of the H8 for moral support and electronic cheering.

Thank you to Naomi Shearer who never once looked at me strangely when I started conversations by saying ‘Let's talk about pedophiles . . .'

Love and thanks to my Mum and Dad for their encouragement and child-minding services.

And finally, eternal gratitude to my partner and children who love me when I'm cranky as well as when I'm not.

About J.M. Peace

J.M. Peace is a serving police officer who would rather be writing about policing. Over the past 16 years, she has served throughout south-east Queensland in a variety of different capacities. Her voice of authority shines through this, her second crime thriller featuring Detective Sammi Willis. Peace has also written various short stories, blogs regularly about policing and writing, and is currently working on her third novel. She blogs at
www.jmpeace.com
.

She lives on the Sunshine Coast, juggling writing and police work with raising two kids along with her partner.