The Good Daughter (21 page)

His arm is lying along the bottom edge of the window, but there is nothing casual or relaxed about him. His hand is clenched. He wears the baseball cap from his room.

‘Rebecca …’

‘How do you think I’m going to trust you after that? I’m not going to believe a single thing you say any more. I don’t know how you think that little performance was going to make me lie for you. I
know
Aden didn’t tell you to do that. If I tell him you tried —’

‘Shut up,’ Nigel says. ‘Just shut up, Rebecca. Don’t you get it? I need you to shut your mouth. If you can’t do that, I’ll make sure no-one believes a single thing you say.’

She folds her arms and walks on.

He accelerates away. A garden rake and shovel slide about in the ute tray.

At the game, Aden is fielding out by the boundary. He squats during a change of batsmen. His hands are between his legs and his fingertips rest in the grass. He ducks his head and pushes his fringe from his eyes. Rebecca sits on a park bench by the fence. He glances across at her. He smiles with lips together, waves a fly from his face. The game commences. He takes a classic fielder’s stance. The ball comes his way. He moves easily, saves the boundary, and tosses in the ball. Rebecca leans forward on her knees. She breathes in deeply and calms her thinking. The smell of pies and sausage rolls drifts across from the canteen. Her stomach rumbles despite it all, or maybe because of it all – the day feels like the equivalent of a cross-country run.

Girls from Rebecca’s school walk laps around the oval. They’re decked out in all the latest gear, earrings she can see swinging from here, Bubblegum jeans tucked into white boots, moussed perms shining in the sun. They know she’s there, she knows they’re there, and as a way to get to her, they start up a
Claas
chant when Aden bowls. They sing out in their thin giggly voices.
All class
! they cheer when he bowls someone out.

The innings finishes and the schoolgirls come over to sit near Rebecca. They smile at her that way they do now they’re older and teasing no longer passes as cool behaviour. Apologetic smiles. They don’t mean to be such popular citizens of Kiona. They’re sorry she can’t relate. ‘We like your jacket. Where did you get it?’

‘Aden bought it for me.’

They exchange sidewards glances.

‘You do know, don’t you, that Joanne Kincaid has been missing before?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You didn’t have to make such a big deal out of it, Rebecca. She’s got an illness, an actual sickness. If every time she acted strange someone called the cops …’

‘It’s a bit weird what you did,’ the redhead, Julia Reed, puts in. ‘What does Zach reckon about it? We feel real sorry for him. Everyone knows about his mum. And heaps of people knew Aden was probably related …’

‘I knew,’ Kylie says.

‘My mum knew,’ Cathy Bremen states.

‘You made everyone think she had killed herself. Zach must have freaked out. You know, it’s probably best at school if you don’t go on and on about it.’

‘My aunty says having a nervous disorder is the same as having any illness, like having diabetes. And she’s a nurse, so she would know. She said the last thing people want is someone drawing attention to it.’

Up the back of the tight huddle they form, Kylie says to another girl, ‘Does Joanne Kincaid have diabetes?’

‘We’re just saying to you, Rebecca, that’s all, you probably didn’t know, you probably thought she wanted to be your friend or something, but she’s like that to everyone.’

‘You probably wanted to be involved, but that’s not being helpful, what you did.’

Kylie is saying to Cathy Bremen, ‘When they said she was on drugs I didn’t know they meant needles for diabetes …’

Cathy Bremen explains, ‘She doesn’t have diabetes.’

‘But she has to have injections?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe she does shoot up?’

Next time Aden looks up, Rebecca waves to let him know she’s leaving.

The local police car is in the same spot Joanne Kincaid parked the day she went missing. Luke Redman is sitting in the passenger seat. Rebecca sees him as she steps from the bridge. He is watching her through the windscreen. Rebecca passes by the bin. He winds down his window. ‘Where you going?’ he says.

‘I’m sorry?’

He opens the car door and gets out. ‘I saw you talking to the girls.’

Rebecca looks across the river towards the oval but keeps walking. Luke falls into step beside her.

‘What were they saying?’

They come to a stop near the restaurant front gate. Rebecca turns to face him. ‘What do you want?’

‘Why do you always have such an attitude?’

Rebecca runs her gaze over him. She eyes the sweat patches in his blue shirt. She looks down and sees the dirt caked on his shoes. His neat crew cut doesn’t match the state of his clothes.

Over at the game there’s a shout of
That’s out!
Two customers from the restaurant come out carrying coffees. They sit at a table on the veranda. One of them opens a newspaper. Rebecca glances down at the gate latch. She looks up at the restaurant door.

‘Don’t worry, they didn’t say anything worth reporting.’

‘I was just wondering if they were your friends.’

‘They’re not.’

A couple of ducks waddle up from the riverbank.

‘The most disturbing call-out my dad has ever been to was out at your place,’ Luke says, out of the blue.

‘Fancy that.’

‘When your sister drowned in the wading pool out the back. Do you remember it?’

‘… Yeah.’

‘He remembers it. He says little kids, they get to you.’

‘I reckon they would.’

‘I’ve never been to anything like that.’

‘I’m sure something will happen to excite you.’

‘These guys think I’ve got bread,’ Luke says, ignoring her comment, motioning towards the ducks.

‘Is there something you want, Luke?’

‘Look at these guys,’ he says, smiling down at the birds milling around his feet. ‘They know me – I’ve been feeding them. I should name them.’ The ducks’ feathers are brown and stained under their bellies. Luke shows them his open hands. ‘I’ve got nothing.’ The birds pull themselves up taller and waddle closer. ‘I was gunna call these guys Huey and Louie and stuff, but this one is more like Freddy Krueger.’ One of the birds flattens out its body as though to rush in and snap at Luke’s heels.

Rebecca says after a moment, ‘They’re fickle.’

‘Fickle?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s fickle?’

She shakes her head. ‘Forget it.’ She opens the gate and steps onto the path. ‘I’m going in for some lunch,’ she says. ‘What are you doing?’

His gaze grows curious. He cocks his head. ‘I can have lunch with you …’

‘I meant,’ Rebecca says, ‘what the hell are you doing standing here talking to me about ducks and my dead half-sister? I’m hungry. I’m going in. I don’t know what you’re doing.’

His gaze tightens. His tone grows firm. ‘You might be surprised, Rebecca, at how cops in a small town aren’t always about throwing the book at people. We do try and help.’

‘Sure.’

His eyebrows pinch in. ‘Sure?’ He glances up at the two dining on the veranda. He returns his gaze to her. ‘If we don’t charge somebody for something, or if we let something go, it’s because we know what’s really going on.’ He continues quietly, ‘You should have a little more respect for the system.’ His voice drops to a whisper. ‘I could help you, but you make it hard on yourself. I could tell you what’s going on, but it’s like you don’t want to know. Everyone’s got the backing of someone else in this town, but you’ve got the backing of no-one – you’ve got no-one behind you.’

‘Thanks.’

Luke lifts his hands and spreads his fingers. He pulls a grim expression. ‘I wanted to help you, but you blew me off.’

‘When? When did you try and help me?’

‘Even now,’ he says in a harsh whisper, ‘I was being civil to you. I was trying to explain to you I know what’s going on, and it sometimes takes a different approach. And still you stick your nose in the air. My dad is pissed off about what’s happened. He thinks it’s unfair how you’ve been treated. He’s doing something about it. But … it’s like … you don’t want anybody’s help. You let yourself get set up for a fall. Don’t turn around when this is over and say no-one tried to help you. You were given a chance.’

‘When? At Aden’s door? That was my big chance, was it?’

‘And now.’

Rebecca spreads her arms in exasperation. ‘Now? What have you said or done right now that is meant to tell me you’re trying to help me? The ducks?’ She waves her hand towards them. ‘Do you talk about ducks as some cryptic message to make me see you’re a real cop after all?’

He sneers. ‘See …’

She sneers back at him – ‘I do see. You’re trying to clear your conscience. You’ve never had any intention of helping me. There is no fairness to the rules – you make your own rules.’

Luke turns and goes.

Rebecca watches him. When he’s halfway across the car park she says, ‘Luke.’

He turns around.

She holds up her middle finger.

35

Zach shoots the dogs.

The right person would give a nod at the efficiency of the clean dispatch, the way the first dog drops, the boxer, dead before it hits the dirt, and those critical seconds where the others spook but stay where they are, waiting for the boxer to get up, shake the blood and brain matter from the side of its head. The second dog is taken in those frozen seconds, and a third – you see, he’s standing with them, and they don’t understand. He’s been walking with them, they have welcomed him into the pack, he’s sat when they sat, he’s hung around the flyblown carcass of a sheep.

If he could read the dogs’ minds he’d say that they had been building for a kill, waiting for the afternoon to lengthen, for the sun to set, and what he has done is killed them before their climax. He’s taken that from them.

The final two he shoots as they run from him, at last understanding he is the killer, the thing to fear, the two sloping black-eyed German shepherds fleeing, skidding, nose-first, tumbling, as he brings up the rifle and drills them – body shots that knock the wind from them and have them scrambling to stand, shots shown to be crippling as they fall down, crawling like alien creatures through the tussocks, squealing and yelping as the pain and panic sets in. He jogs up to them. It’s amazing how much they know, the way they lurch between savagery and terror, snarling one second and then yelping like pups the next.

A bullet each in the head.

Crack, crack
.

And it’s over.

In the sudden and quiet aftermath there’s the sound of the farm ute the next paddock over. Zach catches sight of it. The vehicle swings his way. His father has heard the shots. Zach has no time to think. He runs. The ute horn sounds, and this only compounds the problem – Zach’s father has seen him running. Shooting the dogs is understandable – running away from the scene needs explaining. Zach can’t stomach any more explanations. What might his father finally spell out?

Zach sprints down into a dip, and along to where it meets with a gully. He uses the lay of the land to his advantage, keeping low, out of sight. He trips and staggers. He’s represented the state in running, but he’s not moving fluidly now. This is nothing like any sort of running he’s done before. It’s no staged event. Zach falls and scuffs the skin off the heel of his left hand. The impact jars his shoulder. He scrambles to his feet. It’s as though he’s never experienced what it is to run – because nothing’s ever chased him. Until something is snapping at your heels, you’ve got no idea. It’s not graceful. His body seems ill-equipped. His football coach would tell him he has his weight pitched too far forward, he needs to straighten, his stride is much too short, he needs to relax his torso, regulate his breathing … He’s doing it all wrong. And the rifle – if he insists on carrying it – should be held across his body, in both hands; the way he’s holding it is throwing out his balance. Zach feels a long way from footy training now. He finds time while he runs to pine for it. He’ll have fresh appreciation for the harmless growls of the coaches after this, the cold nights under lights, the stinging rain against his face, fingers too numb to take out his mouthguard. How did he ever think training was a hardship? When his only worry was cramping up or getting caught on the receiving end of a Randy Columbaris tackle? Rebecca was right – Zach has had a sheltered life. He understands why she shoots off at the mouth, lifts her chin, jeers a little. She’s playing in defence. Who would have thought fleeing his father would make him realise that? Who would have thought killing her dogs and running like a child from the scene would only make him understand her better? Zach weaves through a stony section of ground. He looks to the trees ahead for shelter.

36

There’s still some light in the sky when Aden comes out of the clubrooms.

‘Never call me Kincaid,’ he shouts to someone over his shoulder. He moves as though he’s going to walk right past Rebecca, then grins at the last minute and hooks his arm around her neck.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

He’s drunk.

‘They want to know if I’ll keep the sheep or go into agriculture – considering my skills with a crop. I told them I’ll take on the honour of being a Kincaid, and start planting poppies.’ His words are slurred.

‘You didn’t have to leave me at Nigel’s like that,’ she says.

‘Yeah, sorry about that. All right now though?’

Most of the cars have gone. The sun is a bright disc above the pines. A cooling breeze blows empty chip packets across the oval. Someone wolf-whistles at them from up in the grandstand. Aden holds his beer can aloft. ‘You better believe it,’ he calls out.

‘Jail bait,’ a young male voice yells down.

‘She knows, I’ve already told her.’

‘Why didn’t you come over and watch me play?’ Aden asks his mother.

Kara is picking herbs in the garden. Rebecca looks at how the angled light reflects off the oiled leaves of the lemon tree. The lavender stalks sway in the breeze. Cabbage moths flutter around the celery.