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

second week. Alex has spent a lot of money on materials – bricks, paving, cement, topsoil – and is worried about cash flow.

‘Did you do your invoicing last night?’ she asks.

‘No.’

Jess is irritated but unsurprised. She is also fully awake now. ‘Fuck’s sake, Alex. You said you’d do a partial invoice. You could’ve given it to Mum this morning and had money in the bank by tomorrow.’

‘I’ll wait till the job’s finished.’

‘Why? You’ve got to treat her like any other client.’

‘But she’s not like any other client.’ He plants a warm kiss on her forehead. ‘She’s fifty times more intimidating.’

Can’t argue with that. Alex’s noise follows him to the kitchen, where cabinet doors are being opened and closed in the same frantic manner. What is he looking for now? Finally, the front door slams and he is gone.

The flat is deliciously quiet in his wake. It’s just after 6 a.m. A lazy morning stretches ahead; Jess doesn’t need to be at the gym until lunchtime. She closes her eyes, even though there’s little chance of falling back to sleep. Her thoughts circle before snagging on her mum and dad. She understands them better now than she did at seventeen. Megan’s parents felt more real, more relatable, back then. Compare their fathers, for instance: a builder and a surgeon. Men who work with their hands, and that was the extent of what they had in common. Money, confidence, status: all the things that protected Jess’s father were absent in Peter Lowe. Then their mothers: a housewife and a concert pianist. Roslyn so passionate and involved, Margaret cold and contained.

The day that Roslyn had to be escorted from the courtroom symbolised the differences. William Newson had called Jess and Megan liars; Roslyn went berserk.

‘Stop saying those terrible things about my daughter!’ she cried, not caring that she was in contempt of court and causing a massive scene.

Jess’s parents remained dispassionate, as though they didn’t have an opinion one way or the other about her ability to tell, or sustain, lies. She sat there, wishing that her parents believed in her half as much as Roslyn and Peter believed in Megan.

But Roslyn’s passion had a flip side, which Jess realised nine years later as she ran from a church porch into near-torrential rain. Suddenly, Jess was the person who Roslyn was calling out. When you’re put on the spot like that, very publicly, it’s hard to summon a defence. Yes, Jess was in the wrong, but Megan was in the wrong too. She cost them a week, a whole week of resisting while Jess begged her to go to the police. A week in which they showered morning and night, washing away vital evidence. A week in which swelling and redness had time to recede. A week in which the clothes they’d worn had been washed, as had the sheets of the bed where it happened. Body fluids, fingernail scrapings, traces of potential drugs: all gone. All that was left was their word against the boys’ word. Their ‘flimsy, unreliable’ – according to William Newson – word. Jess was in the wrong, but so was Megan. They could have won the case if she hadn’t dragged her feet.

Jess is on the verge of falling back to sleep when her phone beeps with an incoming text. Her eyes fly open. She has been waiting for this: Megan’s response.

Yes, we should talk. I’ve got a day off today. Let me know when you’re free.

That’s twice they’ll see each other in as many weeks. Is it stupid to hope? It’s too late to salvage their friendship, but maybe forgiveness is within reach.

32

BRIDGET

Bridget arrives back at headquarters armed with a tray of take away coffees. Nothing like good coffee to help revive the troops.

She knocks on Katrina’s door. ‘Skinny flat white delivered with an update, if you have the time.’

‘Excellent. Come in.’

Bridget helps herself to a seat. ‘Lots of progress to report. Dylan O’Shea is coming in later this morning – hopefully he’ll give us some insight into the dynamics at the time of the trial. Dave has a person of interest who was at the station at the same time as Thomas Malouf. We’re enhancing images to show to colleagues and family to see if we can get an ID. I talked to Megan and Jessica over the weekend. Their alibis are pretty water-tight, so I’m branching into the families. Definitely some resentment from Megan’s mum. She works in a car rental company. Guess what’s directly across the road from her workplace …’

Katrina shakes her head, evidently not in the mood for guessing games.

‘That motorcycle café. You know the one.’

Katrina nods and grimaces. A café slash motorcycle accessories shop. A reputed hub for drug and other illegal dealings. The shop has been closed down and reopened numerous times, its ownership changing with dizzying frequency.

‘And Jessica’s parents?’

‘Her family is well-to-do, which means plenty of money to pay someone to do their dirty work. Her partner, Alex, also deserves a closer look.’

Katrina sips from her coffee and regards the white-board on her wall. The names are still intact since their meeting last week: Suzanne Newson, Joshua Newson, Fergus Herrmann, Laura Dundas, Emily Wickham, Megan Lowe and Jessica Foster.

‘Any names we can take off?’

‘Not really.’

Sasha has confirmed that Fergus Herrmann was at work but there is doubt about his specific location. His delivery truck doesn’t have a tracking device – which is a bit suspicious, because most delivery vehicles do these days – so he really could have been anywhere. Sasha is checking CCTV from the Pacific Highway to see if there’s evidence of the truck being in the area. Of course, the bike could have been stored in the back, which would explain its disappearance after the shooting. They haven’t been able to confirm connections between Fergus and a bikie gang, but Bridget maintains her suspicions. The distinctive beard. The faded angel-wing tattoo. A bikie gang would explain where the weapon came from, and the context