The Witness, page 14
Angie felt her milk start to let down and realised she hadn’t put her breast pads in. Shit!
Jack was leaning forward in his chair. ‘Yeah, I agree with—’
‘One sec,’ Angie interrupted. ‘I’ll be back.’ She got up quickly then raced down the hallway to the ladies and locked herself into a stall. It just so happened it was the same stall in which she had done the pregnancy test, the one with those two blue lines that had changed her life forever.
Unclipping her bra, she leaned over the toilet and let the milk run into the bowl. She squeezed one breast then the other until the leaking finally came to an end.
‘You idiot,’ she whispered, feeling heat on her cheeks still. ‘Of all the bloody things to happen.’
Satisfied she’d got rid of the excess, she unrolled some toilet paper and folded it into each of her bra cups, hoping it would be absorbent enough, then went back into the detective’s room.
If a man had to go through this, she thought, her cheeks still hot, someone would have changed it years ago.
They wouldn’t be back at work so early, her mind taunted her.
As she sat down at her desk, she tapped out a reminder note on her phone to store some breast pads in her locker. Then she remembered she didn’t have a locker allocation anymore because she was on mat leave. She deleted the reminder and inwardly sighed.
‘So, if we have Eric and Iris both seemingly alive and well at Southern Cross, what happened between there and the accident site to cause the crash?’ she asked, trying to play it cool. ‘When did they swap drivers – and why? If they did stop at a parking bay, we’re not going to have a record of that on camera and unfortunately that’s the only reasonable explanation.’ Angie looked up at Jack and Tim, who were bent over Tim’s computer screen. She suddenly realised there was a new energy in the room. ‘What’s going on?’
‘This,’ Jack said, reaching behind him to the printer. He handed her a report.
It only took her a few moments to realise what she was holding. ‘Oh. Woah!’
‘Yep,’ Tim said. ‘Forensics has come back and there are two different types of paint on both the car and the railing of the bridge.’
‘Not a single-car accident,’ Jack said.
‘No,’ Angie agreed. ‘Two cars.’
CHAPTER 16
‘Are you sleeping, Molly?’ Janet asked. The counsellor’s long dangly earrings touched her shoulders and swayed as she spoke. They were a hint to her vivacious personality when she wasn’t at work. The rest of her attire was a professional suit, shirt and jacket, which was overdressed for anyone living in Kalgoorlie.
Molly was sitting opposite Janet in her light, airy office. The windows were long, horizontal rectangles that let in lots of natural light, but they were set high enough in the walls that prying eyes from the street couldn’t see in.
This office hadn’t changed much in the twenty years she’d been seeing Janet. A fresh coat of paint and a new plant were about the only additions. The bookshelves, which lined two of the walls, shouted titles like Counselling Skills: Therapy and Practice and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy: A Guide.
‘Molly?’ Janet prodded gently. ‘Are you sleeping?’
Wanting to laugh, Molly leaned back in her chair. ‘You ask me that every time I come to see you.’
Janet smiled benignly. ‘It’s a good guide to how you are coping.’
‘I’m sleeping,’ she answered. ‘It’s surprising, but I am. Life – you know, the crow – turns up at sunrise, so he needs to be fed. Isn’t it strange how everything continues? The animals still need feeding, the bills still need paying, everything has to go on as it did before, but nothing is the same. It’s such a paradox.’ She shifted in her seat as she thought back to the funeral and those two identical coffins. Yes. Everything had changed.
‘It’s not unheard of to feel like that,’ Janet said. ‘I believe that’s one of the hardest parts of grief. The mismatch. And living in those two realities, as you are, can be exhausting and disorientating. As hard as this sounds, it’s normal.’
Janet stopped talking and Molly could tell she was choosing her next question. Janet had a bagful of questions and she always seemed to pick the right one for the right moment.
‘Which is the hardest part for you now?’ she asked finally. ‘The loss or the normality?’
‘The loss,’ Molly said. Then she stopped. Was that true?
The silence in the room stretched out. Molly wanted Janet to ask another question, to fill the gap, but instead she let Molly sit with her thoughts until she couldn’t bear it anymore. ‘Ask another question.’
‘It’s that pause that matters,’ Janet said. ‘I’m wondering what your body might be feeling. Can you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths and just settle into it?’
‘I don’t want to do that yet,’ Molly said. ‘I’m not ready to sit with any of this grief. I need normality and routine.’
‘Okay.’ Janet switched tack. ‘We can stay with the practical things for the time being. What about work? Do you think you might like to go back soon?’
‘Yes,’ Molly said immediately. ‘I’m going to talk to Tommy, see if he will roster me on.’ She paused. ‘And speaking of staying in the practical, what would that thesis thing you emailed me about involve?’ Molly shoved down the uncomfortable feeling of being put in the spotlight. She didn’t like being the centre of attention. Molly preferred to be in the background and she supposed, even without talking to Janet about it, that it was because of her first few years with Eric and Iris when they were keeping her close to them and out of the public eye.
‘Oh, yes, I did email you about Rylee, didn’t I? She’s hoping to develop her research skills, critical thinking, data analysis. She wants to specialise in children who have experienced trauma. This particular sort of trauma is unusual and we need more research and information to be better placed to help children.’ Janet took a breath. ‘And I think your pain and journey might be a blueprint for those who come after you. A helping hand. You would be in control of what information you gave her and what you didn’t. She wouldn’t prod any deeper than you’re willing to go. If you didn’t want to answer a question then you wouldn’t have to. The interview would be recorded and then Rylee would guide you through the questions. Of course, it’s entirely your choice, and we can talk about it separately too, but you need to be aware that the questions might stir up emotions for you. Especially given your most recent loss. At the same time, you might find it helpful to talk.’
Outside a police siren squealed. The vehicle passed outside the building in a flash, the wailing fading quickly. Molly felt her shoulders tense and she glanced towards the windows, even though she couldn’t see out. Then she caught Janet observing her. ‘How does that noise make me feel?’ she asked, pre-empting Janet’s question.
Janet raised her eyebrows and smiled, giving Molly the floor.
‘Obviously I don’t like it.’ Molly crossed her arms over her chest. Then she tried to smile and relax. She took a breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten as the air left her body.
‘What do you think of?’
‘When I hear the sirens? I just inwardly think, I hope whoever is needing that ambulance or police car is okay. No, I don’t have flashbacks to the ambulances pulling up at the hospital, or . . .’ She stopped. ‘I’m just sad, Janet. Not traumatised or despairing or thinking that everyone who loves me dies. None of that. Only sad.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And I miss them.’
‘Disorientation comes with great loss and you’ve experienced that. We’ve also worked together long enough for me to know you even by your expressions, and to me it looks like you’re a bit lost. I only want to help you through this. And you know that too.’
Molly’s knees jiggled up and down as she tried to think of a response.
Janet didn’t speak. Instead, she took a sip of water and poured Molly another glass. Molly was surprised to see her own glass was empty; she didn’t remember drinking it.
‘I miss them,’ she repeated, reaching forward and picking up a pen. She twisted it around in her fingers. ‘I know that’s normal and I’ll probably continue to miss them forever. What’s hard right now is having to answer all the questions from the police and find the information they’re looking for.’
‘For the coroner’s report?’
‘Apparently.’
‘What are they asking you about?’
Molly ran through the list she could remember: hotels, mechanics, why they might have gone to Perth. ‘And Dad’s diary,’ she finished with.
Janet cracked a small smile. ‘Yes, he was prolific. Is there anything helpful in it?’
‘That’s the thing. We can’t find it. It wasn’t in the car and I haven’t found it at home. Not that I’ve had a good look. I’ll do that when I leave here.’
‘Will you read it or just take it to the police if you find it?’
Molly blinked. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.’ She frowned. ‘Why would I read it?’
‘Some diaries aren’t about secrets, although that’s the impression we all have. We think diary, we think confidential – and of course some are.’
Molly gave a half smile. That was true. When she was twelve, she’d kept a diary for a few weeks, so she could write about her first boyfriend and how he’d kissed her in the school gym as the bell was ringing for lunch break.
‘But some diaries,’ Janet continued, ‘are a record of memories or a factual account of a situation.’
‘That’s what Dad used to say to me,’ Molly told her, her throat closing over. ‘Maybe if I read them, I might be reliving memories with him and Mum.’
‘Maybe. Or perhaps it will just be like sitting alongside him, holding his hand. Seeing his world through his eyes.’ She paused. ‘But you do need to be aware that there is a dangerous side to reading someone’s internal thoughts. Ones they wouldn’t usually voice.’
Molly started to tap the pen, tip to end, on her knee. Her stomach was clenched with tension, yet the thought of sitting alone in the house with her dad’s words filled her with a warmth she hadn’t anticipated. Then reality hit. ‘What if I don’t find it? What does that mean? Where else would it be?’
‘I’d be surprised if it’s not in the house somewhere. Or perhaps it was thrown further from the car than the police realised and it’s still out in the bush.’
‘Of course! That makes a whole lot more sense. Maybe I should . . .’ Her voice faded. ‘I don’t really want to go to where the accident happened.’
‘This is your journey, no one else’s. If you don’t find the diary at home, then you can simply give the idea to the police and they’ll go out there and search.’
‘They have to do that anyway,’ Molly said, ‘because their phones are still missing.’
CHAPTER 17
Life, the crow, had been watching Molly from the doorway. He cocked his head to one side and started his funny hop-walk down the corridor. He gave a caw, then stopped and looked around to see if Molly was following him.
‘What do you want?’ she asked as she rubbed her hands over her face. She’d been going through her dad’s desk, looking for anything that might indicate where Eric had kept his notebooks. ‘I’m busy, and unless you can tell me where Dad kept his diaries, then . . .’
A loud banging on the front door made Molly groan. ‘Go away,’ she muttered. ‘I just want to be by myself.’
The heavy rap sounded again. She couldn’t get away with pretending she wasn’t home because her car was parked at the front door, where she’d screamed to a halt earlier in the morning after seeing Janet.
‘Molly?’
Hearing Richard Mullins’ voice, Molly let her head drop against the desk. She sighed deeply. ‘Coming!’ she called, pushing back the chair she’d been sitting on and walking down the hallway.
‘Richard, hello,’ she said, opening the door. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. Oh, hi Bev.’ She opened the door wider to let the visitors in.
‘Hello, dear,’ Bev said, holding out a casserole dish wrapped in a tea towel. ‘We thought we’d pop over and see how you are.’
Molly gave her a watery smile. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked as she always did.
‘If you’re having one,’ Richard said and turned his attention to the crow who was peering curiously at her. ‘Hello, Life. Keeping Molly company, I see.’
‘How are you coping?’ Bev asked, following Molly into the kitchen. Both had been here so often they knew the routine. Richard pulled out a bar stool while Bev put the meal on the bench. ‘Beef stroganoff and pasta,’ she said, indicating to the dish.
‘Thanks,’ Molly said, getting out the cups and teapot and turning the kettle on. ‘I’m going okay. As well as can be expected, I suppose. Some moments I’m fine and others, well . . .’ She shrugged.
Bev reached over and patted Molly’s arm.
‘How are you two going?’ Molly asked. ‘I mean it’s not just me who’s lost people I love. You have too.’ Shock rippled through her when she saw Richard’s eyes turn red.
He cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s a bit tough,’ he told her with characteristic gruffness. ‘He was a good man, Eric was.’
‘And Iris was so kind,’ Bev put in.
Why did people always comment on a person’s traits? Molly wondered. It was like they were being judged . . . but then what else was there to say? She was funny, he was always up to mischief, she was soft and gentle, he was . . . On and on.
The kettle whistled, breaking the silence. Molly poured water into the teapot then looked at her visitors. ‘I’ve got a question.’
‘Go,’ Richard said.
‘I need to find Dad’s diaries and I’ve searched the den. Do you have any idea where I should be looking? Did he ever say anything to you about where he kept them?’
Richard frowned. ‘I’d assume the current one’d be on his desk. The old ones will be stored somewhere. He was always very organised, so probably in a plastic box – labelled, I’d suspect. In his office? Or maybe the shed. Have you looked out there? When we were on the force we all kept notebooks documenting the day’s happenings and our personal thoughts and recollections and I doubt your father’s personal daily diaries would be any different. Old habits die hard and all that.’
‘The police haven’t found the most recent one. I’ve been going through his desk this morning and I haven’t found anything either.’
‘Have you checked his bedside table?’ Bev asked. ‘Maybe in a drawer. Or inside the wardrobe.’
‘Actually, no, I haven’t looked there. Thanks, Bev.’
‘And maybe in a bookshelf for the older ones?’
Molly shook her head as she poured out the tea. ‘No, the bookshelves are Mum’s domain. She’s the reader. I’ve had a quick look through them and haven’t found anything yet. Richard’s thought about the shed is probably right. I’ll check. And in their bedroom.’
‘We could help you if you like?’ Richard suggested.
‘Thanks for the offer, but I can do it.’
Another silence stretched out, broken only by the sound of Richard slurping at his cup of tea.
Bev reached out to hold Molly’s hand. ‘I want you to know that your parents loved you very much. I’m sure you already know that. But Iris and me, we used to talk. We understood what it was like to be police officers’ wives, to see our men go out to work and never be sure if they would come home. So, she confided in me and I in her. Iris was so conflicted when it came to you. She felt you’d been through so much when you arrived to stay with them, and her heart broke for you, but at the same time, in a strange way she was glad those things had happened because it meant you were able to come to them. They’d always wanted a child and it couldn’t happen for them and then through some stroke of awful luck for you and good luck for them, you arrived. I just want to make sure you know how much they loved you.’
Richard cleared his throat again. ‘That’s true.’
Molly looked down. How complicated feelings were. Her chest was going to explode.
Richard made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Well, look, I think we should push on. You know where we are if you need us, Molly. And we’ll come the moment you call.’
‘Actually, there is one thing. Stay there for a sec.’ Molly got up and went to the den, returning with a piece of paper. ‘Turns out that Mum had an appointment with a neurologist here in Kal on the same day they were coming back from Perth. Did you know anything about that?’ She handed the letter to Richard, who slipped on his glasses to read it. Without a word, he passed it to Bev, who was already shaking her head.
‘I didn’t know about this,’ Bev said. ‘She must’ve cancelled the appointment, though, if they went to Perth.’
‘Okay,’ Molly said. ‘Thanks, I just thought I’d ask.’
Getting up, Richard gave Molly a hug. ‘I know sorry doesn’t cut it, but . . .’ His voice faded.
Then Bev enveloped Molly in a scent of Vaseline Intensive Care and sunscreen. ‘Lots of love, darling,’ she said.
The dust kicked up in the driveway as they left.
Molly went back into the kitchen to collect the cups and put them in the dishwasher. She looked at the appointment letter again and picked up her phone.
‘Good morning,’ she said when the phone was answered at the other end. ‘My name is Molly Walker; I’m a midwife at the Kalgoorlie Hospital. I’m enquiring about an appointment that Iris Bennett was supposed to have recently.’ She gave the date and time.
The woman on the other end was all business. ‘I can’t give out any information to anyone except the patient or next of kin. Who did you say you were?’
Molly dropped the professional tone. ‘I’m her daughter,’ she said. ‘Mum died recently and I’m calling to let you know that she won’t need any more appointments.’
