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

Billy and Kyle are more wary in the second, ducking, bouncing and sizing each other up. Billy is in a defensive stance; he’ll need to get some shots in if he wants to win this. Just as Jess is thinking this, he goes for Kyle’s head, completely misses and leaves himself open. Kyle pushes him back on the ropes, which rattle loudly. He lands some jabs straight on the ribs, and one to the face.

The referee orders them to stop, and begins to count. ‘One, two, three …’

‘First count of the night,’ the announcer declares. ‘Doesn’t mean much in amateur boxing. Only one point.’

‘Keep him away,’ Jess shouts, as the fight resumes. ‘Use your feet, Billy. Move.’

And Billy moves. He manages to redeem himself with the judges by landing a couple of jabs before the second round is called.

Billy returns to the corner for a drink and a lecture. ‘Don’t get lazy with your hands, mate. You don’t have to go for the big shots every time.’

He has a bust lip; he got off lightly. He gulps some water, dries his face.

‘Third and deciding round,’ the announcer calls. ‘This is a close bout, ladies and gentlemen.’

‘Smash him, Billy!’ a woman screeches; she sounds suspiciously like Natasha.

Jess tunes out the woman and the crowd. ‘Straight punches, mate. You’re free-range right. Faster hands. That’s too late.

‘Keep him away. You’re standing too tall. Get lower, mate, lower.’

Billy’s right in there, jab for jab, uppercut for upper-cut. Billy has style and ingenuity; Kyle has experience and strength. Billy is better at defence, Kyle is better at hitting. It’s close, very close.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, that’s the end of the final round and definitely a rematch in the making. We’ll have an official decision shortly.’

Jess undoes Billy’s headgear and helps remove his gloves. The referee checks his hands, and those of his opponent. Then he positions them on either side of him, to await the announcement of the decision.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the winner by way of split decision goes to the man in the red corner, all the way from Orange, New South Wales, Kyle Landon!’

‘Welcome to the world of split decisions,’ Jess sighs, clapping Billy on the back. ‘Not a bad result for your first fight. Well done, mate.’

‘Thanks.’ He grins, his face glowing with blood, sweat and relief.

Jess’s eyes locate Megan in the crowd. Her face is animated, she looks like she’s enjoying herself. Megan is part of the reason Jess arrived at Vince’s doorstep twelve years ago, seeking a fight she at least had a fair chance of winning. Now this, a new phase in her coaching career. It feels fitting that Megan is here. They’ve come full circle.

All the handshakes are done, and the next pair of fighters are waiting their turn in the ring.

‘Come on,’ Jess says. ‘Let’s get some ice on that nice shiner you’ve got coming through.’

61

BRIDGET

Whether it’s suicide or homicide, there’s the same shock, confusion, guilt, anger and devastation. The endless ‘what if’ questions. Something that could have been done or said or noticed that would have diverted to a different outcome. Families left shattered. Friends and colleagues dangerously unanchored. Ripple effects felt for a lifetime.

Bridget has called Katrina and given her the latest news. Three investigations solved at once: the detective inspector is as pleased as one can be in the circumstances. The rational part of Bridget’s mind tells her to leave Megan and Jess until tomorrow, but the emotional part can’t wait until then. She’s invested in these women; she can’t leave them waiting any more than she could leave Cara waiting. Jess’s phone rings out, and Bridget belatedly remembers that it was seized last night. Megan answers hers after a few rings.

‘Megan, it’s Detective Sergeant Bridget Kennedy … Are you at home?’

‘No.’ There is a lot of background noise: cheering and whistling. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Where are you? I have an important update.’

‘I’m at the community hall in Artarmon. Jess is here, too.’

‘Give me twenty minutes,’ Bridget says, already moving.

She calls Shane from the car, giving him a brief explanation for her continued failure to arrive home.

‘Katrina has promised me a few days off next week,’ she says, a yawn escaping at the same time. The wipers slick mesmerisingly from one side to the other. She shakes her head until she’s appropriately alert.

Shane’s tone is sombre over the speakers. ‘I guess we’ll see you at some stage tonight. Be careful. Love you.’

He is wonderful, her husband. The wheels would come off without him. Next week she has some serious making up to do, with him and the kids.

The car park adjacent to the community hall is close to full. The rain is coming down more heavily. Bridget pauses for a moment on getting out of the car, raising her face, giving the rain the welcome it deserves. It stings her skin, cold, reviving. The air smells of mingled dust and water. She takes a deep breath before following the sound of voices and loud music. The foyer of the hall has a canteen and a sectioned-off makeshift dressing room, competitors wearing either red or blue, coaches and support staff in dark-coloured polo-shirts.

Bridget smooths down her hair; it tends to go frizzy in the rain. The smell of hot food reminds her how hungry she is. It would appear that the main action is happening next door, in the hall. An announcer’s voice booms over the sound system.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the winner by way of referee stops contest is the fighter in the blue corner …’

She spots Jess’s pale blonde head in the provisional dressing room. Next to her, sitting down, is a familiar-looking man in his twenties, his face smeared with sweat and blood: the lawyer. Megan is bent over him; she seems to be examining one of his eyes.

Bridget manoeuvres her way through the crowd and Jess turns her head sharply, as though sensing her approach. She frowns, touches Megan’s arm, murmurs something in her ear. Megan straightens, swiping a