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

and coffee beans. Their order is taken by a girl who’s a similar age to Cara. Wide smile, friendly demeanour. Maybe not so like Cara after all.

‘So that’s where we’re at. No alarm bells ringing from Newson’s bank transactions, internet activity or physical movements. We’re also formulating a timeline for Joshua and Suzanne and checking their bank and phone records. Sasha, one of our junior detectives, is looking at Newson’s will and life insurance policies.’

‘Sounds like you have things well in hand.’

‘That’s one way of putting it … Another would be to say we have bugger all to go on.’

Their order is delivered by the smiley waitress, two flat-white coffees and overfilled sandwiches held together with toothpicks.

‘How about your end of things?’ Bridget asks. ‘Anything to report?’

She tasked Dave with going back around the neighbour-hood, attempting to jog memories in relation to unusual occurrences in the days leading up to the shooting.

‘I’ve talked to the next-door neighbour, Mrs Simon, who wasn’t at home that night. She and her daughter were at the theatre, came back about eleven. Mrs Simon is close friends with Suzanne Newson. She described her relationship with William as “civil”, which leads me to believe there wasn’t a lot of love lost between them.’

‘She probably took sides during the divorce,’ Bridget surmises. ‘Did Mrs Simon notice any unusual visitors or activity next door?’

‘Apparently, the only regular visitor was Joshua. He dropped in the Sunday before and had a brief chat with Mrs Simon, who was out in her garden when he arrived. She said he seemed a bit distracted. He looked over his shoulder once or twice while they were speaking, as if he were expecting someone else to turn up.’

Bridget is immediately suspicious of such extraordinary detail. ‘Is there a Mr Simon in the house?’

‘He died four years ago.’

‘How about neighbours on the other side?’

‘A young couple who moved in a few months ago.’ Dave dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin. ‘They never got around to meeting Newson.’

‘Any insights on whether there was a girlfriend or partner on the scene?’

‘Mrs Simon doesn’t believe so. If there was, it doesn’t look like she came to the house very often. Then again, if Mrs Simon is Suzanne’s friend, Newson might have been extra discreet.’

The waitress is back, brimming with enthusiasm. ‘How’s your sandwich? Can I get you anything else?’

She must be barely out of school. Perhaps this is a part-time job to supplement her first year of university. She looks like an arts student, History or English or something like that. Bridget’s thoughts automatically jump to Cara. Her daughter went to a party last weekend. Her outfit – an indecently short denim skirt with a lace crop top – made Bridget blush and Shane immediately avert his eyes to a far-distant spot over her shoulder.

‘Are you going to allow her to go out like that?’ he demanded of Bridget when Cara left the room to get her jacket.

‘She should be able to wear whatever she wants to wear,’ Bridget retorted, even though she was inwardly aghast. Her daughter’s breasts were spilling out. The skirt barely covered her knickers.

‘I know that … But I’m her father and I can’t find anywhere safe to put my eyes. What hope do other blokes have?’

Bridget turned on him furiously. ‘Why is it always about the blokes? It’s nothing to do with them. It’s Cara’s business what she wears. It’s her body, her choice, her way of expressing herself.’

Now the argument is niggling at her. Because the way Cara was dressed screamed vulnerability as much as sultriness. The young waitress is wearing a short skirt too; not quite as skimpy as Cara’s, but short nevertheless. Her midriff is exposed, showing a piercing in her navel. She exudes sweetness rather than sexuality. Yet, if anything untoward were to happen, her choice of clothing would be dissected and questioned. She could even be accused of smiling too much, or being flirtatious rather than plain friendly. Sexy or sweet, the girls should be able to wear whatever they want. Sexy or sweet, the girls should be safe from unwanted attention. More than anything, they should be safe from blame.

‘Time for another coffee?’ she asks Dave.

He looks at his watch. He’s hesitant. Other work awaiting his attention back at the station? Bridget knows the feeling; she has been neglecting her other cases. Unsolved homicides invariably reach a point where they stall. Once stalled, they’re in danger of being usurped by new cases coming in. It’s a constant battle to keep the older cases ticking over while giving the new ones the oomph required in these critical early days.

‘I want to tell you about the Malouf–O’Shea trial. It had a big impact on Newson’s career, twelve years ago.’

Dave nods and Bridget smiles at the young girl. ‘Two more coffees, please.’

The waitress – oblivious to the fact that one of her customers has cast her as a potential rape victim – bounces away.

16

MEGAN

Megan has blocked the number Dylan used last night, but she is still on edge, eyeing her phone warily in case it produces another nasty shock. It’s not the first time he has tried to make contact. Maybe half a dozen phone calls over the years? Not enough for her to change her number. Not enough to accuse him of stalking her. Not enough to expect it when it happens, so there’s always a profound shock, a sense of violation and powerlessness. He uses a different number each time, so blocking him won’t prevent it from happening again, but she has to do something. She knows what he wants: to clear his name, to rewrite history. Too damn late for that.

Her phone stays silent. At noon, Megan slips it into the back pocket of her jeans, and walks to the real estate agents. The walk puts her in a better frame of mind: the healing powers of fresh air and a cloudless blue sky.

The agent is called Paula Mason. Middle-aged, sharply dressed,