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

and Dylan O’Shea. The activity is not just recent: it dates back years.

The laptop belongs to Roslyn Lowe.

Now Bridget and Dave are parked outside the property in Hornsby. It’s 8 a.m. A jogger is running along the grass verge, and the neighbour across the road is making arcs with his garden hose. Bridget experiences a fleeting rush of guilt regarding her neglected fitness levels and her arid, thirsty garden at home.

‘Let’s go,’ says Dave, springing out of the car with an enthusiasm that belies the fact that they were both in the office until almost eleven last night. Bridget’s exit is hesitant: she’s questioning what she’s doing here. Every time she thinks she is getting a handle on the case, it takes another turn, pirouetting out of reach. Alex’s ute is currently undergoing forensic examination, with traces of blood already detected on one of the spades. It’s evident that Bridget is going to need another warrant, for the place he presumably last used the spade: Jessica’s family home. Yet, with all that going on, Bridget is here, outside this other more ordinary house that will soon – conveniently? – have brand-new owners. Last night she felt quite convinced that Jessica’s boyfriend was implicated; this morning it’s Megan’s mother who is setting off alarm bells. A mother’s love is a force of nature. A mother’s wrath has no boundaries. Bridget has no clue how either Alex or Roslyn align with the motorbike and gun being found in Thomas Malouf’s storage facility. It’s making her head spin. What is she missing? A small crucial piece of information that ties everything together, or something bigger and more fundamental?

Megan answers the door. She’s dressed in pyjamas, her dark-brown hair mussed from sleep. She looks vulnerable, embarrassed, startled, annoyed: the range of emotions Bridget herself would experience if she opened her front door to two detectives while still in her nightwear.

‘Good morning. Sorry for the early call. Is your mum at home?’

‘She’s working today,’ Megan says, then adds, ‘to make up for having yesterday off.’

A choice: leave now and phone Roslyn later to arrange a formal interview; or see if anything can be gleaned from her daughter. Dave used the word ‘hostile’ when describing Roslyn’s reaction to last night’s search. A chat with Megan might be more productive.

‘Do you mind if we come in?’

A blink of chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘Sure. But it’s not going to be comfortable. There’s literally nowhere to sit!’

She’s not lying. The living room, which is the first room off the hallway, is entirely empty except for a TV screen on the wall. A door opens further down the hallway. Tattooed arms, unkempt hair and flashing eyes. It’s the brother: Sebastian. What’s he doing here again? Doesn’t he live in Melbourne?

‘What’s going on?’ he demands, looking at everyone in turn, his eyes stopping on his sister.

‘They just want to talk,’ Megan answers, a quiver detectable in her voice.

‘You don’t have to talk, Megan. You don’t have to do anything. Mum’s right. This is harassment.’

Hostility can be born from fear, or a loss of control, or entrenched anger. Providing detail can dispel some of the first two at least.

Bridget takes a breath. ‘Look, it’s just a quick chat about your mum’s laptop and some of the stuff she’s been looking at. But you’re right. You’re under no obligation to speak to us.’

Megan sighs. Her brother scowls. Bridget is suspicious that they’re both well aware of their mother’s online activity.

‘Let’s get out of the hall,’ Megan says in a calm voice.

They follow her into the kitchen, converging around the L-shaped countertop.

Bridget is forthright. ‘Can either of you explain why there are hundreds of searches relating to two deceased men and another missing man on your mum’s laptop?’

Silence. Megan and Seb exchange a long meaningful look. She wants to explain; he is loath. Bridget waits it out.

‘It’s not how it looks,’ Megan says eventually, breaking eye contact with her brother.

‘Isn’t it?’ Bridget locks her into a stare.

‘Mum is a bit obsessed. She lost a lot because of the trial. But she would never hurt anyone …’

Bridget recalls the victim impact statement that Megan wrote as part of her therapy. She said that she’d woken up to a nightmare, that her trust in people, and in the world, had been shattered. Roslyn forwarded the impact statement to the investigating detectives, insisting it be placed on file, because Roslyn had found herself living a nightmare, too: no mother in the world wants to hear their daughter referred to as Girl A.

‘Your mum’s workplace is directly across the road from the Motorcycle Accessories Café. Does she have associations with any of its clientele?’

Another – alarmed – look between brother and sister.

‘Of course not!’ Megan’s denial is underscored with uncertainty.

‘I hear they do good coffee,’ Bridget continues, transferring her stare to Megan’s brother. ‘Some interesting personalities hanging around that café. You can buy more than coffee and motorcycle parts, if you know what I mean.’

Seb’s face darkens; her meaning is not lost on him. Megan’s brother never made it on to Katrina’s white-board because he lives in Melbourne. Yet here he is. And he was here last time, too. Melbourne is a mere flight away.

Megan’s dark eyes are pleading. ‘I promise this is not as bad as it looks. Listen …’

51

MEGAN

The first sign of trouble came nine months after the trial. Her dad, Peter, had taken on a contract to repair a common property driveway. It was a large, complex job. A few weeks after completion, he received a letter of complaint from the owner, stating that cracks and bubbles were starting to form along the edges of the retaining walls. Megan was in Cambodia at the time, and heard about it from Roslyn over the phone.

‘Your father rectified the work, but he doesn’t understand what went wrong. It looks like the waterproof membrane failed to bond, but he’s used it many times before without any problems.’

Megan remembers the conversation quite clearly, because a driveway dispute seemed like