You Had It Coming B.M. Carroll (best ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📖

‘Detective Sergeants Bridget Kennedy and David Nesbitt from Homicide. It’s Leo, isn’t it? Can we come inside for a minute?’

‘I’ll get my dad,’ he says abruptly.

Bridget and Dave are left standing on the threshold. A number of conclusions can be drawn from Leo Malouf’s reluctance to invite them in. A lack of manners. Deference to his father, given that it’s his house. Or trust issues with the police.

Leo’s father comes to the door: early sixties, grey-black hair, swarthy skin. He offers his hand to shake.

‘Joe Malouf. Leo said you’re from Homicide?’

‘Yes, we’ve taken the case over from local police. We have some questions.’

Joe regards them warily. ‘I’ve got a full house this morning. Family and friends consoling my wife … We’ll have to talk here.’

No settling in for a long chat, then. Bridget whittles down her questions to the most important ones. ‘Can you tell us what frame of mind Thomas was in? Was he worried about anything?’

‘Thomas enjoyed life, had a good circle of friends. He was an upbeat fellow.’

‘Did he have a girlfriend or partner?’

Joe shakes his head. ‘His mother wanted him to settle down, but he wasn’t ready.’

‘Any financial problems you’re aware of?’

‘Not at all. He had a good job. Besides, he always knew he could come to us if he ran into trouble.’

The cushioning effect of family wealth. Lucky for Thomas. And Leo.

‘So, no long-term effects from the rape trial?’ Bridget asks, inwardly wincing at her bluntness. This is what comes of not being able to sit down and ease into things.

Joe’s jaw clenches. ‘Thomas put it behind him. We all did. Nasty business. Nasty girls.’

Bridget recoils. Nasty girls. Is that how Joe and the rest of the family saw it?

Dave puts forward the next question. ‘We’re investigating whether William Newson’s recent death is related to Thomas’s. Do you have any information to offer on that possibility?’

Joe is resolute. ‘No information.’

Bridget and Dave are back in the car within minutes. Bridget hesitates before driving off, staring up at the big glass windows on the second floor. In one of those bedrooms, two seventeen-year-old girls were allegedly raped. What really happened that night?

‘It all started in this house,’ she says, half to herself.

Nasty business. Nasty girls. Megan mentioned yesterday that she and Jess are no longer close. It suddenly feels important to know why the friendship fell apart.

31

JESS

Megan’s dad’s funeral. He was only sixty-one, two years younger than Jess’s dad. He’d had cancer and – quite unfathomably – declined chemotherapy treatment. So, there was a strange atmosphere in the church. A ‘what if’ question undermining the rhythm of the service. What if he’d had chemo and cooperated with the doctors and oncologists? What if he’d fought his illness instead of succumbing to it? What if this funeral never needed to happen? Megan wouldn’t have red-rimmed eyes from crying; Seb wouldn’t need to chew on his lip to contain his emotions; Roslyn wouldn’t look as though she’d keel over at any minute from the weight of her grief.

While the priest went through the motions, Jess closed her eyes and thought about the man who had died. A man who had seemed very ordinary and accessible when she first met him. A man who was proud of Megan in such a simple, uncomplicated way. A man who was so much more vulnerable and brittle than he appeared on first impressions. Peter Lowe was a burly man, a builder who was used to hefting things around. He had big, rough hands that looked like they could handle anything; the fact was, they couldn’t.

Jess joined the line of people to pay her respects once the service was over. Roslyn, Seb and Megan stood in the church porch. Rain was lashing sideways at the windows; the weather seemed to suit the occasion.

‘Sorry for your loss,’ the people in front of her were saying.

Jess didn’t know what to say. Maybe squeezing each of their hands would relay her sadness and sympathy, and relieve some of her guilt? Because she was another ‘what-if’. What if she had gone home when Megan asked to go home? What if she had respected Megan’s wishes and contained the damage to just the two of them? Megan had always been more intuitive than her; she should have listened.

‘You!’ Roslyn gasped when it was Jess’s turn. ‘You!’

‘Mum!’ Megan whispered urgently. ‘Shush!’

‘How dare you show your face … This is all your fault.’ Roslyn’s voice was gaining strength. ‘What kind of friend are you, anyway? If you’d been a good friend, my husband would still be alive today.’

‘Mum! Stop!’ Megan pleaded. ‘That’s not fair.’

It was fair. Jess’s bad decisions had played an undeniable part in the premature death of a beloved husband and father.

Seb took his mother’s arm, tried to get her to back down. Roslyn stood her ground.

‘Get out of here!’ she screamed in anguish. ‘Go!’

Jess went. She ran.

Megan sent a text later that night.

I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over Mum.

Jess replied:

I’m sorry, too. I should have realised I wasn’t welcome.

And that was that; they didn’t see each other or communicate again until the night William Newson was shot. Some damage is beyond repair. Deep foundational cracks at the time of the trial that led to a catastrophic rupture at a suburban funeral many years later. An insurance company would have looked at the wreck of their friendship and declared it an unequivocal write-off.

It’s Monday morning. Jess is awake early again, thanks to Alex.

‘Can’t you be quieter?’ she grumbles, covering her eyes with her hand.

‘Sorry, babe,’ he says breathlessly. ‘In a bit of a rush. Can’t be late for your mother.’

He’s pulling out drawer after drawer, obviously searching for something. ‘For God’s sake, what are you looking for?’

‘A work T-shirt that doesn’t have holes in it.’

Despite herself, she smiles. He’s trying to impress her mother. Her very aloof mother, who is not easy to impress.

‘Put on something, anything, and stop clattering around!’

The work at her parents’ house is in its