You Had It Coming Read online

  ‘You? At a dinner dance? In a suit?’ Jess laughed off his offer.

  But he followed through and arranged tickets for a city-centre charity ball. Jess got her hair and make-up done and spent a staggering amount on a dress. Alex bought a suit (the only one he owns to this day) and even hired a limo. They drank champagne in the back, and Jess told him she loved him. Here was someone special, someone who wanted to right a wrong, even if it meant being totally out of his comfort zone.

  Alex didn’t reciprocate with, ‘I love you, too.’

  He pulled her closer, his breath heavy in her ear. ‘I’ve got your back, babe … I’ve got your back.’

  Stronger than a thousand proclamations of love.

  45

  BRIDGET

  ‘Well, case closed?’ Katrina enquires in her usual direct manner. The detective inspector is sitting behind her desk, pen tapping, waiting for Bridget’s briefing.

  ‘Certainly looks that way,’ Bridget says, taking one of the two visitors’ seats. ‘I’m waiting for the official report from forensics but it looks like we have the right motorbike and gun. Thomas Malouf had been using the storage facility for years, so no suspicious new lease or anything like that. It’s not a very high-tech facility, no PIN codes just plain old locks, so it’s hard to determine exactly when the Yamaha was left there. We’re going through CCTV, but so far there’s no activity we can see on the day of the shooting or the day after, which means we have to comb through potentially two weeks of footage.’

  Katrina jerks her head towards the list of names still on her whiteboard. ‘So, they’re all irrelevant?’

  Bridget runs her eye down through the names. Suzanne and Joshua Newson. Diana Simon. Megan Lowe, Jessica Foster and various family members. Fergus Herrmann, Laura Dundas, Hayley Webster and others who suffered because William Newson was so adept at proving there wasn’t enough evidence.

  ‘The biggest question I have now is why,’ she says. ‘Maybe, between them, they hold the answer.’

  Why did Malouf kill William Newson, the man who saved his bacon not once but twice? Did he resent Newson, blame him in some way for the direction his life had taken? Did his guilty conscience finally catch up with him, haunted by what he’d done to Hayley, Jessica and who knows how many others? Was he part of some religious sect, one that advocated atonement, an eye for an eye or some nonsense like that? And why did he hang on more than two weeks before committing suicide? It’s not as if the police had been closing in and he was at risk of being caught. He had a gun, for God’s sake, so why jump in front of a train? None of it makes much sense.

  Bridget crosses her legs, then uncrosses them again. She’s feeling fidgety and directionless. It’s the come-down that happens when an investigation is all but solved. Normal pace feels weird after all the long hours and intensity.

  ‘What else did you find in the storage unit?’ Katrina asks.

  ‘Mainly furniture. I understand Thomas inherited the pieces from his grandparents and wanted to keep them until he owned a home that was big enough.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the actions of someone who was planning to kill himself,’ Katrina points out.

  True, but suicide is often a spur-of-the-moment decision, and maybe that’s exactly why nothing is making sense. Thomas’s financial affairs were not in order, also implying his death hadn’t been planned. His credit card statement – the one where they found the monthly charge that alerted them to the storage unit’s existence – was overdue, as were other bills. Crockery was found in his kitchen sink, his bed was left unmade, it didn’t look like his flat had been prepared in any way for his imminent death. And there was no note, at least none they could find.

  ‘Okay, let’s wait for forensics,’ Katrina says, leaning back in her chair. ‘Your team can take their foot off the pedal. No more overtime or weekends. Just tie up what loose ends you have while we wait.’

  ‘It’s an apparition. It cannot be my wife. It’s only five thirty. Can I touch you, see if you’re real?’

  ‘Shut up, Shane.’

  Bridget deposits her handbag on the floor and takes a moment to look around. In the open-plan kitchen, her long-suffering husband has paused in the middle of prepping vegetables for dinner. Parked in front of the television is her neglected fifteen-year-old son, his attention divided between a futuristic-looking show and his iPhone. In the front room, visible through the glass of the French doors, is Cara, studying for her upcoming exams (her Year Advisor recommended that her studying space be somewhere other than her bedroom). It’s daylight. Bridget can’t remember the last time she arrived home from work in daylight.

  ‘Well, it must be case solved if we’re seeing you this early,’ Shane says, chopping some carrots with a deftness she didn’t know him capable of.

  ‘That’s the thing,’ she says with a half-yawn, half-sigh. ‘I really don’t know if it is. Still lots of unanswered questions.’ She shoots him a tired smile and asks half-heartedly, ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘All under control. Just check in with the offspring, if you like.’

  Bridget sits down next to Ethan, who pauses the show he’s watching to give perfunctory answers to her enquiries about school and his general well-being. Cara is more receptive when Bridget pokes her head inside the front room.

  ‘How’s it going in here?’

  ‘Hey, Mum.’ Cara looks up from her work, flicking her hair out of her eyes. ‘Getting lots done. Just about to take a break.’

  ‘Can I get you anything to eat or drink?’

  ‘Nah. Dad made me something earlier. I can wait till dinner.’

  Bridget feels a wave of appreciation for Shane. ‘How about we lock in some time on the weekend to get those shoes?’

  ‘I promised Gina I’d go shopping with her. She’s going to help me with shoes and I’m going to help her choose a dress. Then we’re popping into that student travel place, to see if we can get a deal on flights for schoolies … Actually, I meant to tell you there’s a party Saturday night. Could either you or Dad give me and Gina a lift?’

  Bridget is struck by what an intensely busy time this is for her daughter. Studying to an extent she never has before, managing her blossoming social life, and making travel plans for when the exams are over. This is exactly the stage that Megan Lowe and Jessica Foster were at when they met Thomas Malouf and Dylan O’Shea. That intense period of life suddenly juxtaposed with sexual assault, and everything – their exam results, their friendships and social networks, their futures – jeopardised as a result.

  ‘Sure, I should be able to do that,’ she says, planting a kiss on the top of her daughter’s head.

  It comes to Bridget later that evening, while she is doing the washing-up. An argument breaks out between Cara and Ethan over some ‘borrowed’ earphones.

  ‘I can’t believe you just helped yourself. I’ve spent the last half-hour trying to find them. For God’s sake, Ethan.’

  ‘Mine are missing. I needed to listen to something for school. I was just about to put them back.’

  ‘What happened to asking before taking? Stop going into my room and helping yourself to whatever you want. You have no right.’

  ‘Stop overreacting, okay? It’s just earphones, that’s all.’

  Cara proceeds to detail the violation of human rights from her brother’s trespassing and ‘theft’, and something occurs to Bridget. Since time began, siblings have entered each other’s bedrooms, taken each other’s things. The storage facility might have been in Thomas Malouf’s name, but what was stopping Leo from ‘helping himself’ to the space? But instead of ‘taking’, he could have left something behind: tools of a crime.

  One other thing about siblings: they nurse their grievances passionately. Cara can recall every slight from Ethan from the moment he was born, and vice versa. Bridget is the same with her own brother and sister. Nothing gets forgotten, or fully forgiven; it’s all dredged up whenever there’s an argument.

  Did Leo Malouf bea
r a longstanding grudge? Was he resentful about testifying at the trial? What was the true cost of his testimony? A lifetime of guilt and unhappiness? Continued ‘bullying’ from his older brother? Did William Newson put pressure on Leo in any way? Was the fifteen-year-old a willing witness or a reluctant one?

  Katrina specifically said to ease off on overtime but old habits die hard. Bridget hurriedly dries her hands and grabs her phone. Shane steps in to referee as she composes a text to Dave and the rest of the team:

  Let’s take a closer look at Leo Malouf.

  46

  MEGAN

  Her shift finishes at 6 a.m., just as the sun is rising. It started off busy: the pollen count was high and asthma sufferers everywhere needed extra help. Usually a nebuliser is enough to open up the airways. Witnessing someone gasping for breath can be worse than blood or tissue exposure: breathing is the essence of humanity. It’s always a huge relief when the nebuliser starts to take effect.

  After the busy start, things settled down: a woman with chest pains, a teen with mental health issues, then nothing at all. Megan and Kaz spent the last few hours watching reruns of old comedies, and filling themselves with caffeine and sugar to stay awake; sometimes being quiet is more taxing than being busy.

  Now Megan is in the car, on the way home, and the city is waking up. Early-morning joggers bouncing along footpaths, traffic thickening on the city-bound side of the road. Down in Melbourne, Seb’s flight has already taken off. He’ll be at the house in a couple of hours, to help the removalists … and to answer her questions. An AVO: what the hell?

  Megan hasn’t broached it with her mum; she barely sees her when she’s on the graveyard shift. There’s a strong possibility Roslyn doesn’t know and Megan certainly doesn’t want to be the one to tell her.

  She is suddenly tired. Really, really tired. The rape, the trial, the continuing reverberations. Twelve years later and it’s still going on, sucking her dry.

  One of yesterday’s asthma cases was particularly bad: a young mother who was at her usual gym class when she started to have trouble breathing. They tried a nebuliser, then a steroid, then an injection of adrenalin. She was still coughing, wheezing and worrying about her family.

  ‘I need to go home,’ she rasped. ‘My kids …’

  ‘Don’t talk, just breathe,’ Kaz said. ‘Breathe …’

  Megan’s head is spinning. Surely, she had the right to know about the AVO? What happened was obviously because of her, for God’s sake! What did Seb do to Thomas Malouf? Why Thomas and not Dylan?

  Don’t think, just breathe. Don’t think, just breathe. Breathe …

  Seb gives her a big hug when he arrives. She hugs him back, while silently asking the question: Do I even know you? He’s dressed for Melbourne weather: jeans, boots and a heavy jacket. He discards the jacket on the back of a chair.

  ‘Freezing and pouring in Melbourne this morning. Sydney is like being in a different country.’

  ‘Sounds like you should move back,’ Roslyn says chirpily. She has taken the day off work and exudes energy. Megan expected her mum to be emotional and resistant to stripping the house bare; instead, she seems keen to get things underway. Ironically, Megan is sad and deflated, exhaustion exacerbating everything.

  ‘Nice try, Mum. But I get better gigs in Melbourne, and Cassie would never leave her job. Righto! How long do we have till they get here?’

  ‘Three hours,’ Megan says with a weary sigh. ‘They’re booked for midday.’

  By the time the removalist truck backs into the driveway, the house is virtually empty except for the larger pieces of furniture. Boxes are waiting outside to be loaded into the truck. Items that are not going into storage have been stockpiled in the garage. It’s been weeks of planning, culling and packing, culminating in this forlorn, hollow house. The stylist’s furnishings will arrive on Monday and they’ll go from one extreme to another: the house will look better than it ever did. There’s sadness in that, too.

  The three of them watch as the truck rumbles away.

  ‘I’m going for a shower,’ Megan decides. ‘It’ll either wake me up or put me to sleep. We’ll see which way it goes!’

  Her bedroom has bare essentials only. The bed, an armchair that wasn’t vetoed by the stylist, and a small selection of clothes hanging in the built-in wardrobe. She selects a clean pair of jeans and a fleece sweater.

  The shower revives her. The emptiness of the house is a fresh assault on coming out of the bathroom. A profound silence compounds the bareness. Have Seb and Roslyn gone out?

  Megan raps on the door of her brother’s room. ‘Are you in there?’

  ‘Come in,’ he calls in return.

  He’s lying on the bed, pillows propped behind him, looking at his phone.

  ‘There’s nowhere to even sit out there!’ she says, plonking herself down on the side of his bed. ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Gone to the charity shop with a car-full.’ Seb puts his phone on his lap, screen facing down. ‘She seems fine, doesn’t she? I thought she’d struggle today.’

  ‘She’s a trooper,’ Megan agrees, before admitting, ‘I’m finding it hard … I keep thinking about Dad … How disappointed he’d be.’

  Seb’s gaze shifts away. ‘I know, he’s been on my mind, too.’

  They sit in silence, remembering. How their dad fought to keep the house. The toll on his health and eventually his ability to work. The unavoidable truth: he might still be alive today if he’d cut his losses.

  The photo albums and leather jacket are on the bed, where Megan left them.

  ‘You taking these back to Melbourne?’

  ‘Yeah, Cassie loves looking at old photos. Might wear the jacket at one of my gigs.’

  Her brother has some explaining to do. Stop skirting around. Just come out with it. ‘I found something, Seb …’ She picks up the relevant album and extracts the offending document, laying it down on the bed between them. ‘Why didn’t I know about this AVO?’

  Guilt floods his face. He searches for words, comes up with, ‘Because I didn’t want to upset you … or have you think I was making things even worse …’

  ‘What did you do, exactly?’

  ‘Beat him up a bit.’

  Megan didn’t know that her brother was capable of beating someone up! He is the broody type rather than the fiery type, as far as she knows.

  ‘Why Thomas and not Dylan?’

  He grimaces. ‘Oh, I thumped O’Shea too but he didn’t report me to the police. I guess he thought he had it coming.’ Then a flash of defiance. ‘I went doubly hard on Malouf, I belted him for you and Dad …’

  Now she is starting to understand. Seb’s double-fold frustration. Her brother wasn’t as unaffected by the trial as she believed him to be.

  ‘Did Mum and Dad know about this?’

  Seb looks horrified. ‘God, no, they had more than enough on their plate.’

  ‘Do you have a criminal record because of it?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Once I kept to the terms, it didn’t go on my record.’

  Violence is wrong, she knows this better than anyone. But escaping justice is wrong, too.

  She reaches across to hug him. ‘Thank you. I wish I’d known about this. It makes me feel better to know they got hurt too.’

  47

  BRIDGET

  Dave has a satisfied glint in his eye. ‘Leo Malouf: some traffic offences that resulted in a couple of court appearances. Got off with minimal fines, despite one of the incidents causing serious injury to the other party. I’m seeing a pattern …’

  Bridget has been preparing for a court appearance on Monday relating to a different investigation. She mentally changes gears. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Apparently, Leo had top-notch legal representation, as did Thomas for his misdemeanours … which got me thinking. I checked the database for Joe, the father, and quite a few entries for him, too. He’s a property developer, disputes and litigation go with the territory, but as I said, a pattern …
This is a family who’re used to being in court, who’ve all the right numbers in their phones should they get into trouble.’

  Bridget knows that type of family all too well. ‘What if one of them was at real threat of going to prison this time? What if Newson declined a job? That could be motivation for killing him. Maybe even explains why Thomas jumped in front of a train.’

  ‘Yeah, but I can’t find any current charges on the database. But as you know, disputes can happen through different channels, or be completely off record.’

  Dave is right. Only matters involving police make it on to the database.

  ‘Keep at it. Make inquiries through employee, industrial and any other channels you can think of.’

  A short while later a copy of the forensics report lands in Bridget’s inbox, distracting her from the court matter once again. The contents are at the same time disappointing and suspicious. No latent fingerprints detected on either the gun or the motorcycle. If Thomas planned to kill himself, why bother with gloves, or scrupulously cleaning away fingerprints? Leo, on the other hand, would have more incentive to ensure that no trace had been left.

  Katrina’s instruction was to close off loose ends. The Maloufs are not a loose end: they’re a new line of inquiry. A long history with police, lawyers and courts.

  Did something not quite go to plan this time?

  ‘Bridget, a minute please,’ Katrina calls from her office door.

  It’s early afternoon. Bridget has resumed preparing for Monday’s court appearance. She needs to refresh her memory … this particular case has taken a long time to get to this stage. Katrina’s urgent tone suggests that her attention will be diverted for more than a few minutes. She pushes her seat back from her desk.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asks, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I’ve just received a call from a case officer who’s taken a missing person’s report.’ Katrina’s colour is higher than usual. ‘I think you’ll be extremely interested, but not surprised, to find out who it is.’