A Certain Malice (4 page)

“No, I don’t think so; there wasn’t even much smoke. I called Cliff Donovan from the bushfire brigade as soon as I saw it. You know how quickly fires get out of control at this time of year.”

Cam agreed. “How long did the bushfire guys take to respond?”

Ruth folded her arms. “Is all this necessary? I’ve already been through it with Vince.”

Cam felt the muscles in his jaw tighten again. She sighed, fluttering her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, all right. I’d say about twenty minutes.”

“Did you notice any people or cars in the vicinity before you saw the smoke?”

“No.”

Cam made a note then slid off the stool, collecting his papers. He still had more questions but felt he’d do better speaking to Cecelia alone. He was heading for the door when Ruth’s voice made him turn.

“I’m sorry about Elizabeth and your son. I read about it in the Old Glenroydians’ Magazine.”

She sounded as sincere as her intoxication would allow, but Cam still reeled from the unexpected blow. He looked at Cecelia to gauge her reaction and saw his own shock mirrored in her eyes.

“I sent you a sympathy card and a long letter but you obviously never got it,” Ruth continued.

“I – we – got lots of sympathy cards. I lost track.” He let out a ragged breath and ran a hand across his face, before pinching his right ear lobe between his thumb and forefinger. It did nothing to allay the jolting shiver that ran up his body.

Cecelia looked at Ruth, knitting her brows with a silent rebuke.

He gave Cecelia a faltering smile and left the lab with the roar of flames in his ears.

4

TUESDAY

Cam scowled when the door yielded to the first nudge of his key, sighing at the blatant disregard of his instructions. He took in the sight before him: the unpacked cartons, the precarious stacks of furniture, the piles of books, and everything else that contributed to the warehouse appearance of his new home.

“Hey, looks like you’ve been busy,” he said to his daughter as their small white poodle, Fleur, jumped at his legs.

Ruby didn’t look up. It seemed she had barely moved since he’d left her earlier that morning, though she had managed to summon up the energy to unpack the TV. She now lay on the floor with her head on a pillow, apparently too engrossed in the midday movie to acknowledge his presence.

Cam patted the dog, then walked to the TV and punched the off button, plunging the room into sudden silence.

“Where’s Cindy?” he asked. Cindy was a university student he’d employed to help around the house until he could find a suitable, permanent housekeeper. He’d hoped, being reasonably close in age, Ruby might have found something in common with her.

“Cindy’s gone,” Ruby said.

“What? For good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Cam’s voice rose. “But she never rang me to say she was quitting. I was told she was very reliable.”

“It was some kind of emergency, I think. Half the youth choir down with flu or something.” Ruby turned and looked her father in the eye.“That or maybe her calculator broke.”

Cam plunged his clenched fists into his pockets, counting to ten in his head. Exactly what his daughter had done to drive away the congenial Cindy he did not wish to contemplate.

“Well, I’ll have to see about finding someone else. I can’t have you roaming about town on your own for the rest of the school holidays.”

Ruby groaned and said something unintelligible. Cam clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Come on then, let’s make some headway here. I’ve got a few free hours, we should be able to get quite a bit of this stuff stowed away.”

Ruby pushed herself up from the ground and leaned towards the TV controls. Cam beat her to it, pulling the plug from the socket.

“This stays off until these boxes are unpacked,” he said, deflecting her acidic look with his well-used neutral expression. “This is a bonus, we’re lucky to get this stuff so early, cartons from Sydney can take weeks. The place will start to look much more homey with our things in it.”

“This place sucks.” Ruby reached for Fleur and buried her face in the soft white curls of her hair.

“Let’s not go into that again.”

Ruby said, “I want to go back to Sydney. I miss my friends.” She lifted one of Fleur’s tiny paws and spread the toes wide, searching too carefully for grass seeds.

“As soon as you’re settled you can start looking for a part-time job, save up to fly back for a visit,” Cam said.

He hoped that by the time she’d raised the money, she’d have settled in so well she’d have forgotten her loser friends in Sydney.

“Gramma said all I had to do was ask and she’d send me the money.”

Yes, Gramma had always been very accommodating.

He picked up one of the cartons and plonked it down beside her. “This looks like your junk. How about we start arranging your room?”

Ruby released the dog and rolled on to her stomach, sticking her bum in the air and burying her head in the pillow. She used to sleep like that as a toddler and it had always made them laugh.

He didn’t feel like laughing now.

Her voice was muffled through the pillow. “I hate my room. I hate the bed. The mattress is stained, it’s lumpy and there’s lino on the floor. I want a carpet.”

“I’ll look into the cost of carpet. I can’t promise anything straight away but we can start looking. How about we drive up to Toorrup next Thursday and do some late night shopping? We can grab a bite to eat and look at the prices of carpet then. I think they have a cinema in Toorrup now. Never did when I was a kid; we might be able to catch a movie.”

“Whoopy-doo.”

He tried for another angle of positive reinforcement, if that was what it was called. He had a feeling it was just plain, unadulterated bribery.

“I’ve been keeping my eyes out in the local paper for a pony but haven’t had any luck so far. I’ll check at the stock feeder’s on my way back to the station.”

Ruby slapped her hand down hard on the burnt-orange shagpile, shooting him a death stare.

“Dad, how many times do I have to tell you? Read my lips.” She pointed to her mouth and mimed, “I don’t want a fucking pony.”

He ignored her and dragged a box into the kitchen. Of course she still wanted a pony. She’d wanted a pony ever since she’d been old enough to write a Christmas list. He opened one of the kitchen drawers and wiped out the mouse droppings with a dishcloth, then started clattering the knives and forks into their compartments.

Ruby moaned and picked herself off the floor. She started to scrabble at a carton with her fingernails in a futile attempt to break the seal. When she realized she was getting nowhere, she swore and sloped from the lounge into the kitchen. One of her dragging feet caught in a patch of torn vinyl and propelled her into her father’s arms.

“Enjoy your trip?” he said, laughing. She pushed away from him. Her face was pink and streaked with sweaty strands of hair. “You’re supposed to say, See you next fall,” he said, willing her to smile with a silly grin of his own.

She reached for a knife and held it upright in her fist, looking at him with eyes of chipped sapphire. For a moment he thought she was going to stab him; maybe she thought so too. He hadn’t needed the police psychologist to tell him his daughter had poor impulse control and anger management issues.

But then she relaxed. Her hand dropped to her side and she returned to the carton in the lounge. Cam went to the fridge and gulped some iced water from the bottle.

Through the open kitchen door he watched her unpack a carton. Some things she flung to the lounge floor, others – stuffed toys and animal posters – she carried to her bedroom. He was about to suggest she drag the whole box to her room when she reached for something wrapped in tissue paper. In a moment her expression changed from sullen belligerence to a look of sadness that made his throat constrict.

He tossed the remaining cutlery into the drawer and walked through, desperate to engulf her in a bear hug, to tell her how everything would work out, that he was doing it all for her. But he stopped, remembering how she’d stiffened in his arms and turned to face him with eyes so full of hatred, they’d seared him with a pain almost physical.

He gently took the picture from her hands. After wiping the dust off the glass on the leg of his pants, he placed it on the mantelpiece above the gas fire.

“There we go. They can keep a good eye on us from up here,” he said, trying to smile.

His wife and son had been dead for over three years but there were still times when he felt Elizabeth’s presence in bed next to him and smelt her perfume, or heard the excited peals of Joey’s laughter. Moving from one side of the continent to the other had done nothing to diminish these sensations. Now, looking at the picture again, he felt the same bittersweet ache, sensing them even here in this drab police cottage.

The phone rang. Cam could see the immediate relief on his daughter’s face; another tense moment with Dad had been avoided. Earlier he’d had to show her how to work the heavy old-fashioned dial phone and now she held it to her ear as if it were a black brick.

She listened for a moment then shoved the receiver at him. “It’s PC Pork, for you.”

Cam hissed and put his finger to his mouth.

“Well, you’ve called him a lot worse, Dad,” Ruby said in a loud voice, though by now Cam’s hand was clamped over the receiver.

He turned his back on her and listened to the voice on the other end. After a few succinct words, he hung up.“I’ve got to go back to the station. It looks like they’ve ID’d that body,” he said.

She had returned to the packing carton. She shrugged her thin shoulders then gave a start, remembering something.

“Uncle Rod called this morning. He wants to meet you at the Glenny Arms tonight, at six.”

Superintendent Rod Cummings was Cam’s immediate superior in Toorrup and his friend from their Police Academy days. He was largely responsible for the string-pulling necessary to get Cam back to WA and secure his posting to Glenroyd.

“Right, I’ll come home after work to change, then head out again.” Cam said. “I don’t imagine the meeting with Rod will take long.” He walked back to the kitchen and checked the fridge. It was empty except for a can of beer and a bottle of mayonnaise. “Looks like fish and chips again; I’ll bring some home after I’ve seen Rod,” he said.

Ruby made no response. There was a time when she would have done anything for fish and chips.

“Try and get some more unpacking done, OK, love? Oh, and I put the wheels on your bike last night, so if you like you can cycle down to the shops and pick us up some groceries from the general store.”

“They don’t call it a general store any more, Dad, it’s called a supermarket.” She stretched the word, emphasising the syllables.

“It was always the general store when I lived here.”

“Yeah, like a hundred years ago.”

He reached into his pocket and put some money on the breakfast bar. “Until we find a replacement for Cindy, I want you to ring and tell me where you’re going.”

“I’d ring if I had a mobile phone,” she said with a sly smile.

“Mobile phones don’t even work half the time around here. You will ring, young lady, and keep the door locked – until I can find someone else to keep you company.”

Ruby responded with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. But as soon as the door closed behind him, she jumped to her feet and moved to the front window. She prised open the venetians and watched the tall figure of her father walk through the jelly haze of the footpath towards the police station. With a small jump of excitement, she hurried over to Fleur who stood gazing at the front door with troubled eyes.

“Come on, Fleur,” she said to the dog, her voice high and breathless. “We’re going to the park.”

5

The general store might have revamped into a supermarket, but little else had changed in Glenroyd over the last twenty-five years. Cam walked down Main Street, past the same tin-roofed fibro cottages he remembered from his youth, the same small shops decorated with the same archaic advertising logos, faded by the sun and meaningless to anyone under forty.

The stock feeder’s and the farm machinery were the largest retail establishments, but the town also boasted a small newsagency, a post office, a bank, two pubs and two petrol stations. There were enough amenities in Glenroyd to provide basic goods and services, but anyone with a need for anything out of the ordinary would be forced to make the hour and a half trip to Toorrup, the closest town of any size.

The rusting wrought-iron lacework of the pubs and the sloughing paint on the historic post office were visual evidence of the recent agricultural slump. Fifteen-year-old cars dotted the streets or filled up with fuel from the domed shaped bowsers of flat-fronted garages. On market day wobbly-armed women in sleeveless cotton frocks and men in gut-stretched work shirts stood in segregated groups, as they always had, discussing wool prices and CWA, horse racing and lamington drives.

Cam peered through the grimy window of one of the town’s two boutiques where post war dummies with large busts and wasp waists modelled last summer’s sun-bleached clothes.

No wonder Ruby hated it here.

But given time, she’d learn to love it. The town might be small, grotty and old, but this was home: this was where they were meant to be.

The sun was heavy on his head as he scooted between the shady shop awnings, but a wave of cool air rolled over him when he reached the open door of the Glenroyd Arms. He stopped for a moment to savour the sour tang of beer and listen to the contented murmuring from within. For those citizens of Glenroyd with the money and the time, this was the only place to be on a stifling day such as this. Even the adjacent TAB had lost all but its hardcore gamblers to the cool allure of the pub.

He paused again at the window of the stock feeder’s to peruse the For Sale section. The sun-faded pictures of quaint weatherboard houses surrounded by bucolic farmland were photographed in spring before the summer sun and wind had dried the countryside to a dustbowl. He skipped past these, spending longer on the lists of second-hand tractors, posthole drillers and harvesters, his breath whistling through his teeth when he noticed the prices.