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

The platform is freezing, a piercing wind preceding the arrival of the train. By contrast, the carriage is over-heated and airless. It’s almost empty: a middle-aged man on the opposite side, who looks decidedly worse for wear; a younger man, a few rows back, with sleeves of tattoos on his bare arms. Doesn’t he feel the cold? Jess pulls the sleeves of her sweater down and uses the reflection in the window to keep an eye on both of them. The younger guy gets off at Roseville. The middle-aged man seems to be fighting the urge to fall asleep. His head drops, then jerks back up again. The train pulls into Killara. A couple of kilometres from here is where it happened. Two weeks to the day.

Jess’s attention is caught by a figure walking along the platform. Floppy hair, overcoat, scarf, smartly dressed. Fucking hell, is that Thomas Malouf? Did he just get off this train? Jess thinks she recognises the saunter. She squints through the window, but all she can see now is the back of him. Is her mind playing tricks? Conjuring up Thomas because William Newson and Dylan O’Shea have been so much in her head?

The train pulls away and Jess exhales, unfurling her hands. It’s not Thomas. She’s imagining things. Dylan made some noise here and there over the years, but not a squeak from Thomas. Jess likes to think that he is living overseas, so she is not constantly looking over her shoulder. Are Thomas and Dylan aware that their former lawyer has been shot? What does Dylan want to talk about? Maybe the shooting propelled him back in time, forcing a confrontation with his guilt.

Jess is guilty, too. There were actions she should have taken, actions that would have prevented what happened. She should have shrugged off Thomas’s proprietary arm, let him know that she’d changed her mind. She should have said ‘no thanks’ to the drinks, and the ones that followed. She should have listened to Megan when she said she wanted to go home. And this is hard to admit, but she also should have respected Megan’s wishes about not involving the police, or even their parents. Involving the police, going to court, losing … by the time they were done, the damage was tenfold.

Jess has decided to meet Dylan O’Shea. Maybe he has realised – finally – that Megan won’t budge and Jess is his only option if there’s something he needs to get off his chest. Well, Jess has some stuff to get off her chest, too.

Number one: she is not a liar.

Number two: how could he sit in that witness box, shaking and looking petrified, and at the same time being so fucking selective with his memory?

Number three: plying them with drink after drink, that was part of the plan, wasn’t it?

Jess will meet him, although she hasn’t told him yet. The when and where are her decision. This is on her terms. It’s the least she – and Megan – are owed.

21

BRIDGET

Two weeks and not much to show for it. The detective inspector is visibly disappointed.

‘I thought you’d have more than this, Bridget.’

Katrina is in her early sixties, her silver hair cut in a razor-sharp bob. She’s an extremely elegant and intelligent woman, who maintains impeccable standards in all areas of her life. Bridget hates disappointing her.

‘I thought I’d have more, too. All that door-knocking, those filthy bins, hours of CCTV … Plenty of lines of inquiry with the family and work-related threats – just nothing we can grab hold of and run with.’

It’s a high-profile case and as a result there’s pressure to make an arrest. The police commissioner has weighed in, as well as a few politicians. The law community has spoken publicly about their concerns. Loudest of all is the media, running the story daily, demanding updates and asking tough questions. A large whiteboard is mounted on the wall of the detective inspector’s office. Katrina cleans it off and picks up a blue marker.

‘Remind me where everyone was on the night in question,’ she says.

Bridget complies. ‘As you know, Suzanne Newson says she was at home, but we can’t corroborate that. Her phone signal indicates that it was in the area but that’s no proof of anything. She mentioned a neighbour who may have seen her in the garden in the late afternoon, but both she and the neighbour can’t pinpoint the day with enough certainty. Joshua claims he was in transit from work. We have CCTV showing him en route to his car at 6.50 p.m., and footage of his car going over the bridge at 7.05 p.m. We’ve asked him to provide further details on which route he took from there. His phone signal implies that he went directly home but, again, phones and their owners can be in separate places. Joshua seems to blow hot and cold. Happy to talk when I called to his office but less than pleased to see me at the funeral. The other two sons are living in London and Canberra so we’ve eliminated them for now.’

On the whiteboard, Katrina has written the following in bright-blue marker: Suzanne: Home? Joshua: Car?

‘Any strange payments or receipts in anyone’s bank account?’

‘Not that we can determine.’

‘Changes to life insurance or the beneficiaries of his will?’

‘No changes. All three sons will inherit equal amounts.’

Katrina draws a shaky line, splitting the whiteboard in two. ‘Let’s consider the work angle. The threats that were made.’

‘Fergus Herrmann. Father of an eighteen-year-old girl. Very upset about an application Newson made to the DPP to drop charges. Grabbed him by the throat outside the courthouse. An AVO was taken out and it appears that Mr Herrmann kept to its terms and initiated no further contact. I guess he has form, though. I’ll arrange a meeting with Mr Herrmann, see where that takes us.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Laura Dundas. Twenty-two-year-old arts student. Classic case of he said/she said. Not enough evidence for