You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

short reading from the Bible. Then Quentin, the oldest boy, is called on to deliver the eulogy. He stands rigidly at the pulpit. Silence: it’s obvious he’s trying to control his breathing. Bridget’s protective instincts are stirred. Ethan, her fifteen-year-old, was an emotional young boy. Any sign of tears equated to relentless teasing by his classmates, which only made him more upset.

Walk away, Bridget used to advise him. Walk away until your emotions are back under control.

I can’t walk out of class, Mum.

Say rats. Say it over and over, under your breath. You won’t be able to cry while you’re saying it. It’s something to do with how you have to use your mouth to form the words.

Now, Bridget can’t remember the last time Ethan cried, or sought her advice.

Quentin composes himself. He begins to speak, haltingly. ‘Dad was a man of conviction and loyalty … When he loved something, he loved it wholeheartedly … He loved cricket, and instilled that love in us, his sons. He could always be found scoring our Saturday games. In fact, he was so good at scoring, all the other parents made up excuses when it was their turn.’ Laughter from the congregation. ‘Dad paid an exorbitant amount for his membership at the Sydney Cricket Ground, and rotated which one of us went with him. I have vivid memories of those days. Sunburn and sweltering heat. Ice cream and hot chips. Dad’s undivided attention … during the tea breaks, at least.’ Another round of laughter. Quentin is warming up. ‘Dad loved his job. He was disappointed that Joshua was the only one of us who followed him into law. He didn’t have much time for accountants. “How’s the number bashing going?” he would ask me. “Come across an honest politician yet?” he would tease Riley. To him, nothing was purer or more worthy than law.

‘And Dad loved family. He loved Mum …’ Bridget feels Dave stiffen by her side. Did William really love Suzanne or is Quentin saying it out of politeness? If he did, his feelings certainly weren’t reciprocated. His ex-wife made a statement by deciding not to come here today. She used the word ‘repulsive’.

‘He loved his parents, Virginia and Ron. And he loved us, his sons – me, Joshua and Riley. “You’re all that matter,” he would say. “You three are all that matter.” Dad, I hope you know how much you mattered to us …’

*

Joshua and his brothers are standing outside the church, shaking hands with people as they leave.

‘Detective Kennedy,’ he says, looking both surprised and displeased to see Bridget.

‘Hello, Joshua.’ His hand is clammy, like last time. ‘This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Nesbitt.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Dave murmurs. He has a natural way with people. Slightly gruff voice that suggests depth of feeling. Cuddly physique that implies approachability. ‘These are very difficult circumstances.’

‘This isn’t a good time if you need to talk to us.’

‘We’re just here to pay our respects,’ Bridget assures him, offering her hand to Quentin, who’s next in line.

Quentin smiles tremulously. His handshake is warmer than Joshua’s.

Riley, the youngest boy, doesn’t make eye contact as she shakes his hand. His eyes are trained downwards, on his black leather shoes. Considerably younger than his brothers: the age gap must be at least ten years. Was he a much desired third child or an ‘accident’? What was the state of the marriage by the time he was born?

Bridget shrugs off her jacket as soon as she and Dave are a respectable distance from the church. ‘How about a sandwich and a debrief?’

He jerks his head towards the shopping precinct. ‘Let’s leave the car and walk. Funerals make me think too much.’

Bridget knows what he means. It’s hard not to apply ‘what ifs’ to your own family. What if Bridget or Shane died unexpectedly? What if Cara and Ethan had to sit in that desolate first pew, their grief and vulnerability on tragic display? What if one of them had to deliver the eulogy? God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Bridget will subject them to an extra-tight hug when she gets home tonight, even though they’ll hate it.

Bridget updates Dave as they walk. ‘The forensic autopsy report didn’t turn up anything new. First bullet entered the abdomen and travelled in a parallel direction to his back. He was beginning to fall as the second bullet was fired. It entered the chest cavity and, again, travelled to his back. Thirty-two-calibre Federal bullet casings.’

Despite strict gun control and border security, there are thousands of untraced weapons on the black market in Sydney, many stolen from licensed gun dealers or owners.

‘Forensics have checked his laptop. No suspicious files or internet activity. Nothing to report in terms of his phone calls or texts. House and car have been extensively searched. No large sums of cash or anything else suspicious. There’s no evidence that William Newson was engaged in any kind of illegal activity.’

‘Do you have a firm timeline?’ Dave asks, slightly out of breath.

‘He spent most of the day in court, returning to the office at four, then working till six thirty. Commute home took about fifty minutes. CCTV along the route indicates he was alone in the car. He parked in the garage on arriving home, went to take out the bins before going inside. We think we’ve identified the motorbike on a camera at the 7-Eleven in Lindfield. Yamaha, very common. No registration plates, of course, and the rider wasn’t wearing anything we can use for identification purposes. Can’t even tell if it’s a he or a she. I’m getting the images enhanced.’

‘Send them to me and I’ll post them on our Facebook page,’ Dave says. ‘We get a great response rate from the public, even when the images are blurry … Here we are. This should do the job.’

He opens the door and steps aside so Bridget can enter the café ahead of him. Pale green walls, white wrought-iron tables, and the combined smell of toasted sandwiches