‘Yes, sir, of course.’
‘You’re up to it after last week?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Terrible, all that was.’
I adjust my bag; the strap is digging sharply into my shoulder. I think back to last Sunday night, to opening the peeling bathroom door and finding the desperate, beaten-down young woman who had decided it would be better to drown her baby son in the bath and then slit her wrists as she held his dead body, rather than spend another night in fear of her violent ex-boyfriend. ‘Isn’t it all pretty terrible these days?’
‘Certainly feels like it sometimes. Well, anyway, let’s get this show on the road.’ Jonesy pats me hard on the back as his phone starts to ring. ‘Ah, here’s the bloody maintenance man. The air-con in the main room has carked it again,’ he says and walks away, scrambling to get his ringing phone out of his pocket. The Pink Panther riff is abruptly cut off as he starts barking orders.
I stare at the large painting hanging on the wall next to the water cooler: a blurry blue-grey sky set atop green mountains. I think about Rosalind, dead inside the body bag. My insides are wound tight like a spring, my organs suddenly too large for my body. I tap my foot and wish Felix would hurry. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now.
He appears around the corner holding two coffees. He sees me and smiles. ‘Here. You probably need this.’
‘Thanks.’ I take the coffee from him even though the thought of drinking it is making my stomach churn.
‘I just spoke to Charlie. They’ve found her car in the top car park. The one in between the school and the lake.’
‘Charlie called you?’ I say.
‘Yeah. Just now.’
‘I thought you were talking to your wife.’
Felix shoots me a withering look. ‘I was, Gem. And then Charlie called me. Want to see my call log?’ His accent wraps sweetly around the word ‘log’ and I want to kiss him.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Her car’s not a primary crime scene, apparently. Anna’s gone back to do a once-over but it’s locked and seems fine. We can go have a look before they move it, if we want.’
‘Okay. Good.’
‘So, since her car was in the lake’s top car park, maybe she knew she was going to end up at the lake last night?’ he says.
I think about this. ‘From memory, the car park at the school is tiny. The teachers would use that lake car park all the time because it’s only a five-minute walk away. So she might have just always parked there.’
‘Maybe it’s changed since you went there,’ says Felix.
‘I don’t think so. I drive past there sometimes and it looks pretty much the same.’ I know I’m talking quickly. I stop to breathe.
Felix cuffs me amicably on the shoulder but then lets his eyes linger on mine. A flutter runs through me. ‘Are you really okay, Gem? It must be weird going to school with her and then seeing her like this.’
‘Seriously, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of a shock, I guess.’
‘Okay, right, you two.’ Jonesy is off the phone. ‘C’mon, let’s get this thing moving. Get Matthews and Kingston as well. I want them across this, just in case.’
I roll my eyes but Felix walks off to grab the others. Gerry Matthews and Mac Kingston, both in their late forties, are detective sergeants too but wear their superiority like a badge. They have no time for me and the feeling is mutual.
Once the five of us are crammed into Jonesy’s messy office, we work through what we know.
‘Deceased twenty-eight-year-old female. Rosalind Elizabeth Ryan. English teacher at Smithson Secondary College. It appears she lived alone in a small place on the highway. The body was discovered this morning at Sonny Lake, just before seven-thirty am. She was bashed and strangled, and there’s suspected sexual assault.’ Felix reels off this information as if it is a classified ad and I can almost pretend I don’t know her. That I can’t see her lifeless limbs floating in the water.
‘And who found her?’ asks Jonesy. ‘Some jogger you said, Woodstock? Have we cleared him?’
‘Yes, sir, I think he’s clear. He knew her very vaguely but we’ll obviously get a lot of that with her growing up here and being a teacher at Smithson.’ My voice sounds odd, like I’m talking from the next room.
‘Okay, get his statement sorted and put that to bed. What else? Time of death?’
‘Anna thinks late last night or early this morning,’ I tell them.
‘Any ideas on what she was doing down at the lake?’
Matthews clears his throat. ‘There was a big production on at the school last night. A stage play, I guess. My wife went. I just spoke to her. She said that at the end our dead girl was up on stage getting flowers and doing a thankyou speech. Apparently the play was very good.’
I remember Rose on stage in our final year of school, absolutely captivating as Medea. Her wild eyes like daggers as she looked out over the audience, bemoaning her plight.
‘She was always really into acting,’ I say.
‘Woodstock knew her back in school,’ Jonesy explains to the others.
I avoid making eye contact.
‘Right,’ Jonesy continues, ‘well, the school needs to be a secondary crime scene, pronto. Seems like she never made it home. Seal it off and start working over it. And check out her place too.’
‘I’ve already had a team seal it off,’ I say, ignoring the look that Kingston gives Matthews.
‘Good,’ says Jonesy. ‘You and McKinnon check it out once the forensics have gone through it. Interview whoever you need to. Who’s going to do the family?’
‘I’m happy to …’
‘No.’ Jonesy waves Matthews’ offer away. ‘I want McKinnon and Woodstock to do the family.’ He looks me in the eye. ‘The father is a bigwig in business, so tread carefully. Apparently he’s very friendly with Mayor Cordon. I want the formal ID done asap. People are talking so we need to confirm the identity today. Autopsy tomorrow; Anna knows already. Once all that’s sorted, I want you to get a grip on what happened at the school last night. Who, what, where, the usual. Reporters are already clogging up the phones. I can’t believe your mate Candy Cane hasn’t called me yet, Woodstock, but it’s only a matter of time.’
‘She’s not my mate, sir.’
‘She’s a pain in the arse, that’s what she is, but nonetheless she and the rest of the rat pack will be all over this. It’s a great story and just in time for Christmas. Bloody fucking nightmare.’ He pushes at his sparse hair and rubs his eyes. He seems surprised to find us all still there when he looks up. A few beats go by until he roars, ‘Well, go on then—move it!’
We scatter.