You Had It Coming Page 18

  After the service, the casket is shouldered by Leo, Joe and other male relatives. It’s hard not to imagine the mangled state of the remains within. Are the other mourners thinking the same thing? The family trails after the coffin, linking arms.

  ‘Such a terrible accident,’ an elderly woman sobs, and is comforted by a middle-aged woman, perhaps her daughter. ‘So young to be taken.’

  The family is not seeing this death for what it is: a suicide or a murder. After the burial, they’ll consume food and drinks, sharing anecdotes and rewriting the narrative, like they did in 2007. They are old hands at fooling themselves.

  The coffin has been placed in the hearse. The crowd is dispersing to drive to the cemetery, a few kilometres away. Bridget takes Sasha’s elbow and turns to leave but someone is blocking their way. Someone dressed in a black suit.

  ‘You’re not welcome here,’ Leo Malouf hisses in her ear.

  He slides away before she can inform him that they were just about to leave.

  Back at headquarters, Patrick has managed to retrieve the old case files, including the video-recorded police interviews.

  ‘There’s a lot of stuff here. Where do you want to start?’

  ‘I want to see Thomas Malouf’s interview,’ Bridget says. ‘He can’t talk for himself now – let’s see what he had to say then.’

  Dave and Sasha pull up seats; everyone’s curious. Thomas and his lawyer appear on Patrick’s screen. Thomas is wearing a white shirt, turned up at the sleeves. Floppy fair hair, slight smirk, extraordinarily composed for an eighteen-year-old kid. The lawyer is more tense, fidgeting with paperwork while Thomas is read his rights and cautioned that what he says may be used as evidence against him. The lawyer would have instructed William Newson at a later point, when it became evident that the case would go to trial.

  After supplying his name, date of birth and address, Thomas is asked for his version of events. He leans back in his seat. ‘Yeah, I had a party. Fifty or sixty people. Everyone had a good time.’

  Thomas is questioned about Megan and Jessica’s presence at the party. ‘Yeah, the two of them were drinking, dancing, didn’t want to go home. Ended up in my parents’ bedroom, saying they were tired, but they weren’t there to sleep … Look, it was one hundred per cent consensual. Why do girls tell lies about this shit?’

  Bridget watches the rest of the interview with a strong sense of distaste. Thomas Malouf is unapologetic and strangely unapprehensive. Is it because he knew he could rely on his younger brother to back his story? Pity there’s no video of Leo. All they have are his written statement and the court transcript. Leo’s evidence was pivotal. If he had heard a muffled cry or any hint of a struggle in the bedroom next door, the whole case would have been turned on its head.

  Cold hard fact: Leo Malouf was almost as important to this case as the defendants and complainants. Did testifying for his brother drive them closer, or push them apart? Bridget has had two less-than-friendly encounters with Leo. Is it due to grief, or something else?

  Patrick loads Dylan O’Shea’s interview next, which is in stark contrast to his friend’s. Dylan’s a mess. Blushing, quivering, apologising. ‘I’m so sorry. I can barely remember anything. I’m so sorry.’

  Jesus. One extreme to the other. Bridget returns to her desk and tries to gather her thoughts. Where to next?

  Patrick materialises just a few minutes later, as though in answer to her question. ‘Take a look at this. Found it in one of the old files. Sent in a few weeks after the verdict, by Roslyn Lowe. A victim impact statement – Megan wrote it as a form of therapy. Roslyn wanted the detective working on the case to see it, to keep it in mind for future sexual assault investigations by the police.’

  VICTIM IMPACT STATEMENT OF MEGAN LOWE: GIRL A

  I thought that losing my virginity would be romantic. I imagined a boyfriend who was handsome, tender and committed. I imagined a luxurious hotel room with scented candles and background music. An occasion I’d always remember and cherish. Jess and I lost our virginity to boys we didn’t like, let alone love. We lost our virginity side by side, too out-of-it to realise what was actually happening. Instead of feeling cherished, we were bruised, ashamed, and spent weeks worrying about pregnancy and STDs. Thomas’s text suggests that I was raped by him as well as Dylan. Everyone needs to know that I was not a ‘willing participant’ for either of those boys. I did not want to lose my virginity that night; I was tired, I just wanted to sleep. I woke up to a nightmare. My trust in people, and in the world, has been shattered. I feel damaged and worthless and dirty. I find it hard to maintain focus, to see any meaning to life. The only way forward for me is to go somewhere else: another city, country, continent. A place where I can pretend that I’m not, and never was, Girl A.

  36

  MEGAN

  Megan has been rostered with Kaz for the next few months. They’ve worked together before. Kaz is older, mid-forties, with short wavy hair and scrutinising eyes. She used to work in a high-flying corporate role but gave it up to retrain as a paramedic. Kaz lacks Lucas’s extraordinary empathy, but patients respond just as well to her honesty and authority.

  Around lunchtime Megan and Kaz get called to an office building in St Ives, where a pregnant woman (thirty-four weeks’ gone) has started bleeding. The route takes them past Memorial Park, where Jess had arranged to meet Dylan. Megan has the opportunity to assess how visible the park is to passing traffic. The answer is: not very. She is relieved that Jess didn’t end up going.

  ‘Natasha never turns to anyone for help, least of all me,’ Jess said when Megan phoned to find out what Dylan had wanted. ‘I just couldn’t send her away. And, oh my God, Lucy might be the cutest baby in the world but her screams can shatter glass.’

  Natasha was a remote figure when they were teenagers, so focused on her medical degree that she barely reared her head to join in at mealtimes. Megan was half frightened and half in awe of her (and never quite sure if Natasha even knew her name). Megan is glad that Natasha and Jess are becoming closer, and especially glad that Natasha’s surprise visit prevented Jess from going to the park. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes her suspicious. Meeting in a ‘public place’ that’s actually quite secluded. And why now, after all this time? What does Dylan want? It’s easy to underestimate him. The stumbling words. The petrified look on his face. His white trembling hands. He conveyed both remorse and distress as he sat in the witness box. He played the part perfectly; it was far too easy for the jury to feel sorry for him.

  A woman is waiting outside the office block, to show them where to go. ‘We’re on the third floor. Jennifer seemed perfectly fine. It started out of nowhere.’

  ‘First baby?’ Kaz enquires.

  ‘Yes,’ she says breathlessly. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Just an educated guess.’

  Jennifer is splayed in an armchair that someone has dragged into the boardroom from somewhere else, a bloody towel scrunched between her legs.

  ‘Jennifer, how are you doing? My name’s Kaz and this is Megan. Can you feel the baby at the moment?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s wriggling like crazy.’

  That’s good news. Babies of this gestation should be moving pretty continuously. The bad news is that late-pregnancy bleeding can be an indication of placental abruption or uterine rupture.

  ‘How about contractions?’

  ‘I’ve been cramping up since I started bleeding.’

  The cramping could be either contractions or abdominal pain associated with a haemorrhage. Jennifer needs to be taken to Maternity urgently.

  ‘How did you feel this morning when you woke up?’

  ‘I had a backache. Thought nothing of it.’

  First-time mothers often miss the signs of impending labour: backache and lower abdominal pressure. Some of them have been faithfully reading pregnancy books, chapter by chapter, to correspond with the current stage of their pregnancy. But some pregnancies don’t follow the book, or skip ahead a fe
w chapters, and next thing there’s a baby on the way.

  Kaz continues to fire off questions while Megan concentrates on Jennifer’s vital signs. Her blood pressure is low and her skin is clammy, indications that she has lost a fair amount of blood.

  ‘How old are you, Jennifer?’

  ‘Thirty-two … Is my baby going to be okay?’

  Kaz is her usual matter-of-fact self. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, darl. Bleeding at this stage is a bit of a worry … Has anyone called your partner?’

  ‘Yes,’ the colleague answers, from where she’s standing at the doorway. ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘Tell him to go directly to Royal North Shore Maternity. Bring Jennifer’s overnight bag and things for the baby.’

  The delivery will be an emergency C-section because of the blood loss and the baby’s distress. In the back of the ambulance, they manoeuvre Jennifer so that her right hip is elevated and check again to make sure there’s no evidence of cord prolapse. She has begun to have proper contractions. Time is of the essence: they do not want a vaginal delivery, given the risks to mother and baby.

  Megan jumps behind the wheel while Kaz attends to Jennifer and her baby.

  ‘You’d be doing me a big favour if you can hold off having this bub until we reach the hospital, darl. Is that a deal?’

  ‘I’ll try my best,’ Jennifer pants in response.

  The lunchtime traffic is gridlocked. Cars try to make space when they hear the wail of the siren, but they can only do so much. At one intersection, Megan has no choice but to go down the opposite side of the road, always a heart-in-mouth scenario – all it takes is one driver to barge through without noticing them.

  ‘Focus on your breathing,’ Kaz says from behind. ‘Inhale slowly through your nose, exhale through the mouth in a long sigh … I’m not seeing any bits of baby presenting, so that’s good! Let’s keep that bub inside.’

  Kaz has made all the medical interventions she can; psychological interventions are all that’s left. ‘You’re doing great, darl. Squeeze the hell out of my hand. We’re nearly there now.’

  The baby, a boy, is born by C-section forty minutes later. Megan and Kaz receive word just as they’re arriving back at base. The baby is healthy except for his lungs, which are underdeveloped. Jennifer is in recovery after the surgery and a blood transfusion.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Kaz breathes a sigh of relief. ‘That was a close one.’

  They go straight to the kitchen for tea and chocolate biscuits. Adrenalin rapidly gives way to exhaustion in the aftermath of an emergency.

  ‘To Jennifer and her baby boy,’ Kaz says, and they clink their mismatched mugs.

  ‘So, this is where you two are hiding.’ It’s Sakar, one of the senior paramedics.

  ‘Just celebrating a close call with a mum and bub.’ Kaz wipes some biscuit crumbs from her navy pants. ‘How many babies have you delivered in your day, Sakar?’

  Sakar has thirty-odd years on the job; he’s a good person to share war stories with. ‘Twenty-four. I count them. Each one is a miracle.’

  ‘Any with placental abruption and severe bleeding?’

  ‘No, you got me there. Hey, I have something for you both.’

  Sakar hands them identical cream envelopes. Megan’s first thought is that it’s another card from Joshua Newson, which is irrational, because why would Kaz get one too? She freezes, unable to open the envelope. Kaz shows no such reticence. She takes out the folded paper and reads aloud: ‘Lucas and Daniella are delighted to announce their engagement …’

  37

  BRIDGET

  Thursday morning brings some promising developments. Sasha turns up at Bridget’s desk looking extremely pleased with herself.

  ‘Sasha, what have you got for me?’

  ‘Two things, actually. A payment of five thousand dollars to Emily Wickham that wasn’t salary related. Plus, you know those flowers that Megan received from Joshua? Well, turns out it was our Ms Wickham who organised them. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Is it Joshua who wants to know about his father’s final words or is it Emily? Is Emily pulling Joshua’s strings?’

  It does make you wonder. Five thousand dollars: is it enough money to mean something?

  ‘When was the transfer made?’

  ‘About a month before Newson’s death. From his personal bank account, not the business one. We didn’t highlight it on first review because it didn’t seem big enough. But maybe it’s the tip of something?’

  ‘Maybe. See if you can find any other payments. Backdate to when she started working for him.’

  The next development comes later in the morning, from Dave. He flops down on her visitor’s seat, a self-satisfied grin on his broad face.

  ‘Got something mega interesting for you, Bridge!’

  ‘The identity of our mystery man at the train station?’ Bridget asks hopefully, scanning an email before pressing send.

  ‘No, sorry, facial images too indistinct. No, it’s to do with the Newson side of things.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Only that Suzanne Newson is in a relationship with her old next-door neighbour, Diana Simon.’

  Bridget’s hands stiffen on her keyboard. The nosy neighbour and Suzanne Newson a couple? That is something interesting. ‘And how do you know this?’

  ‘Suzanne’s phone records. The same number kept reappearing. Did some digging on social media and found a photo that says “more than just friends”.’

  Dave is triumphant. It’s a fresh angle. It’s a plausible motive – Suzanne or Diana wanting to remove the pesky ex-husband from the picture. It suggests that the deaths are unrelated; the answer to William Newson’s shooting may not lie with Thomas Malouf after all. And it’s yet another name to add to the whiteboard in the detective inspector’s office. Bridget can hear Katrina’s sardonic tone: And you’re calling this progress?

  She makes an impulsive decision. ‘Might be time for another visit to Suzanne Newson. Want to come along?’

  ‘Can’t. Meeting one of the tech guys in half an hour. He’s in demand, don’t want to have to reschedule.’

  ‘I’ll take Sasha, then.’

  Sasha, who has spent the morning wading through bank transactions, is more than happy to take a trip in the car.

  Half an hour later they’re standing outside Suzanne Newson’s bottle-green front door. Bridget knocks and on cue the dog starts barking from inside.

  ‘Mabel, shush!’ Suzanne opens the door, and the dog rushes out to greet them, jumping and yelping with excitement. ‘Oh, hello again.’

  Bridget smiles brightly. ‘Hello, Suzanne. Sorry to drop by unannounced. This is my colleague, Detective Constable Sasha McEvoy. Do you have a minute?’

  ‘Is there news?’ Suzanne’s plump face is creased with what appears to be genuine concern.

  ‘No news. Still following up various leads. Just want to clarify your relationship with Diana Simon.’

  ‘Oh …’ Suzanne seems to deflate. She steps back from the doorway, to make space for them to pass. ‘You better come in, then.’

  Bridget and Sasha follow Suzanne into the kitchen-living area. Bridget makes directly for the photographs displayed above the TV unit. There’s one of Suzanne and another woman holding flutes of champagne: it’s exactly as Bridget remembers it.

  ‘So, this is Diana?’ she checks. The other woman has strong cheekbones and blonde hair. She looks younger than Suzanne. Bridget overlays the image with her brief sighting of Diana peering from her upstairs window, the day when Bridget discovered the etching on the tree: YOU HAD IT COMING. Is that what Diana thought? And Suzanne?

  ‘Yes.’ Suzanne’s cheeks have turned pink, a similar shade to her cotton shirt. ‘Look, neither of us have been attracted to women in the past. Diana just happens to be someone I love very dearly. She feels the same about me … We have so much in common – gardening, the theatre, our dogs … Does any of this make sense?’

  Bridget recently read a newspaper article
about late-blooming lesbians. Women who’d had long-term, successful relationships with men, and later in life had equally successful relationships with women. Rather than having suppressed their true sexuality, the article suggested that women’s sexuality is fluid and can shift over time.

  But Bridget is not here to ‘make sense’ of Suzanne’s sexual identity. She’s here to figure out if it provided motivation for the murder of her ex-husband three weeks ago.

  ‘How did your sons take the news that you and Diana were in a relationship?’

  ‘Badly,’ Suzanne admits with a heavy sigh. ‘Especially Joshua. He lives in Sydney – it’s in his face more than the other two. Diana’s kids aren’t thrilled either, to be honest.’

  Is this the real reason why Quentin and Riley chose to stay with Joshua instead of their mother when they returned home for the funeral? Proximity to good restaurants wasn’t a likely factor after all, which means they’re not as shallow as Bridget thought, but also means they’re less open-minded.

  ‘And how did Mr Newson respond?’

  ‘William thought I’d lost my mind. He wanted me to see a psychologist.’

  The two women look happy in the photograph. Comfortable in themselves and with each other. But Bridget knows enough not to be duped by a photograph. Smiles and glasses of bubbly in the picture frame, and all the ugly stuff – ex-husbands, seething children, contentious divorce settlements – conveniently cropped out.

  Bridget turns so she’s looking Suzanne full in the face. ‘So, this was the real reason behind the disintegration of your marriage?’