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

‘Not Megan, Dylan …’ Tears pool in her eyes, before dripping on to her flushed cheeks. ‘Oh God, I’m going to lose my job, aren’t I? I can’t believe I let him talk me into it …’

Bridget is blindsided. Dylan? How did Dylan talk Hayley into anything? How did he even know about Hayley’s existence? He maintained that he and Thomas were no longer in regular contact. Was that a lie?

‘I swear he didn’t tell me any details, other than the location and time … I had no idea someone was going to be shot … I used the override function and that was all … I swear that was all …’

‘Backtrack a second. When did you meet Dylan? Was it the same night you met Thomas? At the nightclub?’

‘No, no.’ Hayley uses her fingertips to wipe under each eye. ‘It was earlier this year. Around March. He found me.’

Bridget briefly looks at Sasha and sees her own confusion mirrored on the young detective’s face. ‘More details, Hayley. How did he “find” you? Why did he “find” you?’

‘They’d had a school catch-up,’ she whispers, fresh tears clouding her eyes. ‘Apparently, Thomas was high on cocaine and trying to hit on every woman in sight – fortunately, the women were smart enough to keep away. He got more bitter as the night went on. He started to rant about me, calling me a “stupid fucking bitch” for going to the police. Dylan was appalled, but pretended to be sympathetic and kept him talking until he got my name. Then he messaged me and asked to meet up. He said he was one of Thomas’s victims too!’

Bridget bulges with incredulity. ‘What? Why would he say that? He was an accomplice, not a victim!’

Hayley’s red-rimmed eyes bounce between Bridget and Sasha. ‘Thomas gave Dylan GHB too. To loosen him up, apparently.’

Bridget holds her breath. ‘And Dylan told you this for a fact?’

Hayley nods vehemently. ‘He explained about the court case, about those other two girls, how Thomas had been spiking drinks as far back as then. Even more bizarre and awful, was that Dylan had been drugged too, with a smaller dose. And he had no clue, only that all his inhibitions were suddenly gone … He was a victim, too.’

Members of the jury, I spoke earlier about the character of these young ladies and how it helps us understand their behaviour in a wider context. Now let’s discuss the character of the young men who are accused. You have heard testimony from Thomas Malouf’s football coach regarding his leadership on the field and commendable encouragement of other players. Dylan O’Shea also displayed admirable qualities, both at school and at his part-time job. Remember the words of his employer: ‘Dylan is the most gentle, honest and respectful of boys. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the defence’s closing address.

57

BRIDGET

The drive across the city will take thirty-four minutes, according to the navigation system. Sasha puts her foot to the pedal while Bridget makes some calls. She tries Katrina twice and catches her the second time.

‘Sasha and I are on our way to Dylan O’Shea’s house. We need to do a more comprehensive search.’

Bridget visited the house when the missing person report came in. She spoke with the parents and took a cursory look around Dylan’s bedroom. This time she needs to employ a different lens. Dylan had prior knowledge of the attack on William Newson. Dylan saw himself as a victim of Thomas Malouf. These facts, if true, turn everything on its head. These facts, if true, mean that Dylan is implicated up to his eyeballs.

‘Do not even think of asking me to approve another warrant,’ Katrina warns, and Bridget is glad that the detective inspector is not on speaker: bureaucracy can have a disillusioning effect on young detectives like Sasha.

‘I’ll see how far I get with the parents,’ she says, looking out the window as the car emerges on to Sydney Harbour Bridge. ‘If they’re really concerned about their son, they won’t be worried about paperwork.’

Traffic on the bridge is thick but moving quickly. Sasha zips in and out of lanes with confidence. Her face is intent and animated: she is enjoying this. Bridget, on the other hand, is waning slightly. She has covered practically the entire city today, from Hornsby to Pymble to Parramatta to Redfern, and now back to Pymble again. It’s been one of those strange disorienting days, where too much has happened to process it all.

She takes a moment to rally herself before calling Dave. ‘Where are you?’

‘At a family barbecue,’ he replies warily.

‘I need you back in the office. Sorry.’

His sigh is resigned. ‘I thought you might say that.’

She spends the next five minutes instructing Dave on what needs doing. Verification of contact between Dylan and Hayley Webster. Information on how call-centre personnel can override the ambulance dispatch system. A timeline of Dylan O’Shea’s movements on 20 August, the evening of the shooting. A review of his bank statements for suspicious transactions that could relate to the purchase of a gun or motorcycle.

They’ve exited the freeway. Six kilometres to go. Bridget’s imagination is bursting at what they might find when they get there. How much do the parents know? What could be lurking in the garage and sheds, places she didn’t think necessary to check last time as Dylan had said goodbye in the morning and supposedly left the house?

‘Dylan knowing about the shooting is one thing,’ she murmurs. ‘Pulling the trigger is quite another … We must remember that.’

Sasha flicks on the indicator to turn right and thrums her fingers on the steering wheel while she waits for a break in the oncoming traffic. ‘If it was Dylan, what were the motorbike and gun doing in Thomas’s storage facility?’

‘Good question … Maybe Dylan and Thomas were in cahoots and Thomas couldn’t live with himself afterwards and decided to end it all.’

‘Maybe …’ Sasha says doubtfully, pressing heavily on