The Twisted Knot (7 page)

20

Sunday morning was Sammi's quiet time. She curled up on the couch with a book. She'd broken her rule about not reading crime after a friend had lent her a novel with a glowing recommendation. But right now, despite her friend's enthusiasm, she found herself distracted. The story was reminding her of all the loose ends at work. Her mind kept circling back to Woodford. What had he done? And to whom?

Gavin usually played sport on a Sunday, footy or cricket depending on the season. There'd be a game in the morning, or he and his mates would kick a ball around somewhere. Afterwards there'd be a barbecue for lunch, a couple of beers. Then most of them would drift off, depending on whatever else they had planned. Sammi didn't begrudge him this time. Before she started to work permanent day shift, she was often at work on a Sunday anyway. Or sometimes she went along to Gavin's games and hung out with the other partners, and they might stay into the afternoon socialising. But often Sammi simply enjoyed having the luxury of time for herself. She tried to avoid doing chores but the way her mind was whirring away today, cleaning the windows might be more productive than reading.

She was finishing the large bedroom window when Gavin returned home. He plonked himself heavily on the bed. Sammi could smell beer over lemon fresh detergent.

‘So what's happening with Peter Woodford?' he asked.

She took a slow breath before answering. ‘Nothing's happening with Peter Woodford.'

‘Nothing's actually happening, or something is happening but you won't tell me?' This time there was an accusatory tone.

‘Nothing's actually happening,' she replied, giving her head a decisive shake.

‘I've heard the rumours. That he's abusing some girl. The whole town's talking about it.'

‘I've heard them too. But we've got no victim. Our hands are tied. So unless you have some idea as to who the victim is, this is the end of the conversation.'

Gavin shot her a short, sharp glance. He changed tack but didn't back down.

‘Barry's suffering too. He didn't even turn up to cricket today. All the boys were asking me about it, and I knew nothing.'

So that was it. His mates were giving him a hard time. With a copper for a partner, they expected Gavin to know all the town secrets.

‘If I was a copper, I'd . . .' Gavin trailed off. Even half-drunk and angry, he knew he was getting into dangerous territory by telling Sammi how to do her job.

‘If you were a copper in Angel's Crossing, this would be twice as hard for you,' Sammi said. She heard the snap in her own voice, tried to dial it back, keep her tone even and calm. ‘You know the people involved. You have personal opinions about them all. And despite that, you'd still have to do things by the book. You would have to act within the law, even when it's shit. It's police work, not magic. It's imperfect. It falls short. You can't fix everything.'

The silence opened up between them. Gavin took two more swigs of his beer. Sammi returned to her cleaning, long strokes from the top to the bottom of the window.

‘I suppose you know Eric's in town,' Gavin said.

Sammi didn't answer immediately. She had heard the name recently, but where?

‘No.'

‘Do you even know who Eric is?'

Sammi shook her head uncertainly.

‘See,
I
could
be
helping
you.
If
you
just
talked
to
me,'
Gavin
said.

This was becoming a tangled mess. Silence fell between them again, broken only by the glug of Gavin's beer.

Then the face popped into her mind. The wiry man pushing through the mob at the police station. Eric was Janey's father.

‘Eric's Janey's father, isn't he? Yes, I've come across him.'

Gavin nodded. ‘He's stirring things up around town. He's a loose cannon.'

Sammi saw her chance to gain a little ground with Gavin. She could offer him some information. Include him again. ‘We had a noose left in a parcel at the front of the station. There was a note attached saying police should do something before they did. Might have been Eric?'

This seemed to appease Gavin a little. He shifted his weight so he was facing towards her. ‘Yeah, maybe. Sounds like the sort of thing he'd do.'

‘Do you think he'd actually try to rustle up a lynch mob?' she asked.

‘Maybe. If he was drunk enough. I haven't seen him for years, but he loves a bit of attention. This time he's got a reason to be angry and everyone's on his side. The boys start egging him on, there's no telling what he may do. He lost his daughter for fuck's sake.'

Sammi groaned. ‘We don't have any reason to even talk to Peter yet.'

‘A little summary justice might be the best thing,' Gavin said.

‘That's not something a copper could say out loud.' Sammi kept her own thoughts on that to herself.

21

Everything
was
perfectly
still.
Peaceful
even.
There
was
only
the
tiny
scratching
of
the
mice
that
lived
behind
the
hay
baler.

The
man
was
silent
and
motionless.
There
was
not
enough
breeze
to
stir
him.
He
was
suspended
in
midair,
toes
pointing
downwards,
gravity
trying
to
stretch
the
body
to
the
ground,
though
the
rope
held
it
back
the
last
half-metre.

It was a lonely place to die, with only the mice for company, and it would be lonely in the shed for some time to come. Who could tell how long the body would hang in the gloom before people came looking? Long enough for the fluids to leak through the body and drip into a puddle on the floor? Long enough for the flies to lay eggs in the slack-jawed mouth? Long enough for the body to be rendered unrecognisable? Although the body was ice cold to the touch now in the depths of the night, the morning sun would quickly heat the shed to stifling temperatures. A body could almost start to cook in the heat of the day.

There was one word on a dirty piece of notepaper. Next to it was a nearly empty liquor bottle. Clues, perhaps, to this act of finality? Who would find them? Who would interpret them?

The shed had been standing for many decades. It had been the site of many unconscionable acts. Maybe this would be the last one.

22

Anyone creeping around in the early hours of the morning was up to no good. The coppers knew that. That's why they were in stealth mode too, cruising at slow speed past the shops in the main drag. He'd avoided them with no problems. He knew all the streets, the shortcuts, the carparks at the backs of shops. Places to kill the engine and wait. He left his headlights off after seeing the police car. He drove slowly with the window down. The minute he heard another car or saw headlights, he could duck into the closest side street. Once he got out of town, it was unlikely he'd encounter another car before he reached his destination.

He approached as quietly as a V8 engine would allow, moving off the shoulder of the road, then pulled sharply on the steering wheel to execute a U-turn so the car was pointing back the way he'd come. He'd do the rest on foot. He grabbed the things out of the back, juggling the bulky items up onto his shoulder, flipped the hood of his jumper up over his head and left the car unlocked for a quick getaway. He wanted to make trouble, not get into any. As he walked down the driveway, the slap of his thongs against his heels echoed loudly through the night air. He cursed softly, slipped them off and continued barefoot.

He was no stranger to night-time undertakings, but there was something about the stillness of the air as he approached the house that made him shiver. Or maybe it was just the cold ground under his bare feet.

He set to work as close to the house as he dared – quick, sure movements with calloused labourer's hands, ignoring the splinter that caught in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

A dog barked twice from inside the house. Another one answered from somewhere not too far away. He glanced at the house. There was no movement, no light.

Goosebumps swept the length of his spine.

He lit a match, made sure the flames caught.

‘Die, pedo!' he yelled at the dark house. With the sound of dog's barking ringing in his ears, he ran.

23

It was all quiet at a quarter to eight as Sammi cruised past the local primary school on her way to work on Monday morning. The only traffic was a girl on a bicycle. Sammi stopped at the pedestrian crossing as the girl dismounted to cross in front of her. She looked about eleven or twelve years old, on the cusp of puberty but not yet at high school.

Sammi watched as she wheeled her bike in through the school gate. It was early for her to be headed into the school, with her backpack on ready to start the day. Maybe her parents were on their way to work like Sammi and had sent their daughter off early rather than leave her at home by herself. Lots of kids made their own way into school. It was a small town. People watched out for each other. It was safe. Everybody thought it was safe.

A thought struck Sammi. Was this the victim they were looking for? She was neatly dressed, wearing a helmet, probably described as responsible by her mum. She looked loved and cared for. But was this the type of child who could fall prey to a pedophile? A latchkey kid whose parents worked long hours? What would it take to lure her out to Woodford's house after school while her parents were still at work – money, video games? Online seemed to be the more common tool for rock spiders. Sammi knew there were police dedicated to infiltrating the sites kids used to try to catch out the predators. The days of a twitchy man hiding at the school gate with a bag of boiled lollies were over. But some children were still trapped. There was a steady stream of victims around the country. Sammi wrinkled her nose in disgust.

She drove away as the girl disappeared into the school. In a town the size of Angel's Crossing, it was likely that the latest victim could be walking through these very gates at some time this morning. But how would they find them?

*

When Sammi arrived at the station at five to eight, Bob was in the meal room with a coffee and the newspaper. Sammi deflated a little. That meant he was on a 6 a.m. start and he was probably part of a crew rather than the shift supervisor.

‘Morning Bob. Six-a start for you?' she asked.

‘Yep. My partner's gone sick though. Hopefully it will be a quiet day.'

Sammi's heart beat a little faster. Was anyone else rostered on at 8 a.m.? If a big job came up, she couldn't let Bob go out by himself.

She went through to the locker room and pulled out her utility belt as if it was no big deal. It was a Monday. Nothing much happened on Mondays. It would be okay. She clicked the belt around her waist, clipped the keepers in place, and tucked her notebook and digital recorder into her pocket. She'd been thinking about doing this for a while. Going out. She'd team up with Bob.
Do some patrols of town and edge back into it. Monday. It would be fine. Just another day in the Crossing. It wasn't Thursday when welfare payments hit the bank accounts first and the pub cash registers shortly afterwards. All the crooks would be sleeping in after a big weekend. Monday was a safe day. It was a good day to go out.

Sammi entered the equipment room. She retrieved her gun from the safe, loaded it up. Thirty bullets. One mag of fifteen up the spout and one spare for her belt. She opened the Taser safe and pulled one out. She did the spark test, checked the battery level, then loaded it. Two cartridges. One on the front, the spare on the base. She slid it into its holster, checked the safety latch held tight. She touched her capsicum spray, handcuffs and baton, already in place around her waist. She had everything covered. What could go wrong?

Ready to go. Act normal. She walked back out to the meal room, concentrating on each step forward. Bob looked up, his eyes falling on her belt before moving to her face.

‘I'll team up with you today,' she said. She cleared her throat, tried to project her voice through the breathiness.

‘Are you sure?' Bob asked.

‘You shouldn't have to go out by yourself.'

‘I'll be all right.' He hesitated. ‘Don't you need the shrink or someone to sign off before you go out?'

Sammi shook her head, not trusting her voice.

‘Aren't you still on light duties?' More head shaking.

‘You don't need a medical clearance?'

‘No. It's been months since I was officially on light duties. Everything's been signed off. It's just been an agreement between the boss and myself that I stay in the office. Until I was ready.'

‘So you're ready today?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Don't you want to go out with me, Bob?' There was enough irritation to lend a sharpness to her voice.

Bob held both hands up in a ‘stop' gesture.

‘I'd be really pleased to see you back on the road, I'd be happy to work with you. Only want to make sure that this is the right time to do it.'

‘It's a Monday day shift, Bob. There'll be no trouble. It'll be fine.' She looked him in the eye, defying him to ask another question. He forced a small smile instead.

‘Okay then,' Sammi said.
Get back to the routine of it.
‘Have you got a car booked out or do you want me to do that?'

‘No, I've got a car,' Bob said. ‘You'll need a radio though.'

‘Sure.'

She went back to the equipment room. Slow, evenly spaced steps. No stress. She chose a radio, signed it out, and clipped it onto her belt. It was just like any other day. How many times had she kitted up ready for her shift? Jumped in the car and headed out without another thought? Monday day shift. Easy.

She returned to the meal room, made herself a coffee and sat down with Bob.

‘Hey, the night crew had something to handover that you'll be interested in,' Bob said. He would have seen them at 6 a.m. as they'd finished their shift.

Sammi relaxed into the familiarity of talking about work. ‘What's that?'

‘It wasn't a big job, but it builds on our current problems. They went out to Woodford's house last night. The neighbour called them. His dog woke him up, barking, so he got up and could see smoke coming from Woodford's house. He went over – someone had made a scarecrow and burnt it on a stake in the front garden. The neighbour had the fire out with a hose by the time our crew arrived. It didn't really do any damage. No sign of Woodford though.'

‘The rumours have got back to him. He's probably done a runner,' Sammi said.

‘You haven't turned up any victims?' Bob asked.

‘No. No names yet. Either no one knows, or they're protecting the victim.'

‘Well, either way, Woodford's got a target on his back.'

‘What happened with the scarecrow?' Sammi asked.

‘The boys thought no one was home and only left a calling card in the door. If it wasn't for the neighbour, we probably wouldn't have found out about it. So no complaint at this stage.'

‘Eric seemed pretty worked up when the mob was here,' Sammi offered. ‘He's been here for a few days. Gavin's seen him around.'

Bob nodded. ‘Mel did mention that. He'd be the chief suspect for the burning scarecrow,' Bob said. ‘Loves to shit-stir. Not overly fond of the police. Been caught drink-driving once too often. That was one of the reasons he shot through, I think. He'd get pulled over every time he drove anywhere. It was worse after the whole thing with Janey. He took it hard. I think he didn't know how to deal with it.'

‘So he might be right for the noose too?'

‘Probably. Can you check with Gavin if he knows exactly when he arrived?'

Sammi groaned inwardly. ‘Right now?'

Bob paused. ‘Problem with that?'

She sighed. ‘Gavin's got the shits with me because I didn't tell him about the rumours about Woodford. He works with his brother.'

‘Oh, of course. Barry. But Gavin knows all about the confidentiality issues binding us, doesn't he?'

‘Of course. But everyone talks to their partners, don't they?'

‘In theory, they don't.' You could count on Bob to give the by-the-book answer.

There was a pause as Sammi thought about the best approach. ‘I suppose you know that Gavin wants to become a copper now,' she said.

Bob nodded. ‘I heard him talking to a couple of the boys out the back and figured that was what it was about. Is that causing a bit of tension too?'

Tension – that was a good way to describe it. The thing was, she and Gavin didn't fight anymore. Not the way they used to, with yelling and slammed doors. They used to have passionate fights. Noisy. Multi-coloured. The last fight they'd had resulted in her taking off to Brisbane. And being kidnapped. So their fights were quiet now. And sort of beige. Like Gavin thought something horrible would happen if he ever said a cross word to her again.

That was another thing which bothered her. This whole conflict about Gavin wanting to become a police officer had been mostly acted out in silence and secrecy. It wasn't like them. But how could she explain this to Bob? That part of her missed their fights? So she shrugged instead.

‘Do you think Gavin should join the police?' she asked.

Bob smiled. ‘I think it's a sound choice of career. And Gavin's a great bloke. I'd be pleased to see him in the suit of blue.'

Sammi nodded without meeting Bob's eyes. She reached for a newspaper and pretended to read the front page story. She could feel Bob's eyes on her.

‘Anyway,' Bob said after a pause. ‘With all these rumours about Woodford, the scarecrow probably gives us an opportunity . . .' He didn't seem to want to say it directly.

Sammi looked up at him. ‘It gives us a reasonable excuse to go out there and talk to Woodford?' Her fingertips began to tingle.

Bob nodded. ‘We could see what he's like. See if he's nervous. Or over-friendly. We can ask him why he thinks people are burning effigies on his front lawn. See if he twitches or mumbles.'

Simply an enquiry. No danger there. Woodford probably wouldn't even be there. In fact, Sammi was certain he wouldn't be there. Knock on his door. A chance to poke around a little. And if, on the off-chance, Woodford was there – well, he'd doubtless be on his best behaviour sporting his ‘I'm innocent' face. Worst-case scenario was she'd have to take a report for arson from a pedophile. Not nice but no personal risk there. No confrontation. No violence. And she felt personally invested in this job. She wanted to see the man who molested girls and dodged charges.

‘I'll leave it up to you if you want to go out there,' Bob said softly.

It was time. She was still a police officer. Time to act like one.

‘Yep. Let's do it,' she said.

Bob smiled broadly at her. He had some appreciation of the gravity of this first shift back out.

‘We'll finish our coffees first.'