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

seems to be going to bed earlier and earlier. Selling the family home is a big upheaval. Maybe her outburst today was more to do with emotional stress than anything. Megan sits on the couch with her phone, which she has barely looked at all day. Three new text messages.

Lucas:

Rachel regained consciousness during the night. She was discharged today. Another one saved from the jaws of death. xxx

Seb:

Never even asked you about your love life. Are you seeing anyone? When do I get to play disapproving older brother?

Jess:

Have you heard about Thomas Malouf? We need to talk. When can we meet up?

30

BRIDGET

Bridget is in Shane’s bad books. She worked all weekend, leaving meals, household chores and teenager management to him. Now she’s flying out the door, and he’s left to deal with the Monday-morning scramble. The kids are technically old enough to get themselves ready for school. The reality is they show less independence and initiative than ten-year-olds.

‘Sorry,’ Bridget says, scouring a drawer for her car keys. ‘Got a huge day. Feel like I’m on the verge of a massive breakthrough.’

Shane’s sigh is resigned. His job comes second, he understands that. Nothing is more urgent than a murder investigation (potentially a double-murder investigation, in this instance).

Homicide is now leading the investigation into Thomas Malouf’s death, and Katrina has allocated more resources accordingly. Two additional detective constables, and Dave Nesbitt, seconded from Chatswood, are now full time on the case. Bridget arrives in the office to find that her old academy friend has hijacked the empty desk next to hers. He’s examining CCTV footage from Artarmon station, his nose almost touching the computer screen as he endeavours to catalogue every detail.

‘Here’s Malouf, arriving at the station. He’s jumpy. Keeps looking over his shoulder. Taking his hands in and out of his pockets. Goes to platform two, changes his mind and heads for platform one. Classic sign that something’s up. Who decides to go in the opposite direction all of a sudden, unless they’re not sure about their whereabouts?’

Dave keeps up a running commentary that Bridget finds both irritating and reassuring. She can trust him not to miss anything, although she might eventually have to tell him to shut the hell up.

‘Hey, Bridge, take a look at this.’

She jumps up to peer over Dave’s shoulder. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘This individual here. Walking behind Malouf on his way into the station. They’re on platform two, and hey presto, here they are on platform one a minute or so later. Just like Malouf.’

The figure is blurry and dressed in a nondescript manner. Dark puffer jacket with hood. Head downcast. None of Dave’s frames have a clear shot of the face. The mystery person is standing close enough to be conversing with Malouf in one of the frames, but it’s impossible to tell from the angle of their heads.

‘Something was going on. Some kind of game was being played. I think Thomas Malouf jumped because he felt he had no other choice. Or else he was given a helping hand. It wasn’t an accident.’

The problem is that there’s very poor coverage of the actual event. Far end of the platform, obscured by the toilet block and other commuters. They can see Malouf’s body lurching forward, but no amount of enhancing or freezing can determine if the momentum was his own, or provided by someone else.

Bridget’s lips press together. ‘I never thought it was an accident, Dave … Or a coincidence that both Newson and Malouf are dead within weeks of each other.’

‘Coincidences are often not coincidences at all,’ he recites without taking his eyes off the screen.

‘Exactly. Do what you can to find out who that person is. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.’

The figure on the screen is not especially tall or muscular and the puffer jacket disguises the shoulders, which can be a good indicator of gender. The gait does look a bit masculine. Bridget suddenly remembers the manner in which Jessica Foster sauntered across the gym yesterday morning: legs further apart than you’d usually see in a female. Lucky for Jessica, she has plenty of witnesses who can confirm that she was at the gym at the precise time of both deaths.

Bridget spends the next hour briefing Patrick, Sasha and the new members of the team on the various lines of inquiry. Alex Leary. Roslyn Lowe. Fergus Herrmann. Laura Dundas. Joshua Newson and his mother. They must keep the William Newson investigation ticking over, even though Bridget’s gut is telling her that the answers will ultimately lie with Thomas Malouf. Newson had a lot of people who were unhappy with him. Malouf, from what they know so far, was a much simpler individual: account manager in the training sector, committed to his social life and the recreational use of cocaine. So easy to pass off his death as a suicide, but Bridget knows there is much more to the story. He worked in North Sydney and lived, alone, in Mosman. He had no business at Artarmon station at 8 p.m. on a Thursday evening. Uncovering what prompted him to be at that station at that time will uncover the facts behind his death and William Newson’s death, too. Bridget is convinced of it. Because they’re linked. They have to be.

‘Hey, Dave, want to take a break from the screen? I think it’s time we had a chat with the Malouf family.’

Dave doesn’t need to be asked twice. He is thrilled to be working full time on the investigation. ‘Let’s go, Bridge.’

The Malouf family home is in Gordon: a brash, two-storey house that stands out from its neighbours, which are mostly single-level Federation-era homes. A water feature in the front garden, an imposing second-floor balcony, three luxury cars parked in the driveway.

‘Never guess Dad’s a property developer,’ Dave says sarcastically.

The front door is double-size and the bell can be heard echoing inside the house. The door is opened by a youngish man, presumably Thomas’s brother,