The Twisted Knot Read online

  Sammi tilted the rear-vision mirror towards her so she could stare herself down. ‘My ability to overcome my obstacles is limitless,’ she muttered. She hardly recognised the woman staring back at her, felt completely at odds with her. She looked like a professional and capable police officer. Someone you could turn to with your problems.

  A movement to her left caught her attention. Mel was climbing out of her silver hatchback two cars down from Sammi. Mel always arrived only a couple of minutes before the start of the shift. How long had Sammi been sitting there, mired in her own thoughts? Too late to turn around and go home now.

  She swung out of her car and smoothed down her shirt.

  ‘Morning, Mel,’ she called, trying to make her voice sound light.

  ‘Hey Sammi.’ Mel gave her a smile. ‘Another day in beautiful downtown Angel’s Crossing.’

  They walked in the back door together, splitting at the first corridor. Sammi walked back to the locker rooms to pretend to kit up, while Mel went to unlock the front door. When Sammi walked out to the counter, tucking her notebook into her top pocket, Mel was walking back from the front door.

  She held an envelope out to Sammi. ‘Someone must have slid this under the front door overnight.’

  It was a plain white envelope, with ‘POLICE’ written on the front. Sammi took it, turning it over once before ripping it open. She pulled out a single sheet of A4 paper, folded evenly twice. There was a single sentence written in the middle. It said ‘Peter Woodford is a pedophile. Do your job.’

  She turned the piece of paper over, then opened the envelope to check for anything further. But that was it. One single sentence printed in neat capitals in black marker.

  They often received anonymous mail like this at the station. Usually it came in their post office box. Often it was written by people with mental problems. There was one elderly gentleman who regularly sent fifteen-page manifestos detailing Indonesia’s plan for the invasion of Australia. But this note was different. Its simplicity gave it credibility. A statement without explanation or justification. Sammi put the paper and envelope on the front counter, regretting that she hadn’t pulled on a pair of latex gloves before she’d opened it.

  Mel was looking over her shoulder.

  ‘Do you know who Peter Woodford is?’ Sammi asked.

  Mel pulled a face like she’d bitten into an apple to find half a worm.

  ‘Go and show Bob,’ she replied. She looked at Mel again, surprised she didn’t have some story to share about the person.

  Bob appeared from nowhere at the sound of his name.

  ‘Show Bob what?’ he asked.

  ‘Envelope shoved under the front door,’ Sammi said, gesturing to the piece of paper on the counter.

  Bob peered forward. Then his face tightened, his mouth pulling downwards.

  He grabbed the paper and envelope, screwing it up with a decisive twist. Then he flattened it out enough to get it through the slot on the confidential waste bin.

  ‘Ancient history,’ he muttered, then stalked up the corridor towards the boss’s office before Sammi had a chance to ask anything further. Sammi turned to Mel, her mouth opening and shutting twice before the words came out.

  ‘What was all that about?’ she asked, equal parts aghast and dumbfounded.

  Mel shook her head. ‘Not my place to say.’

  Sammi looked at her in surprise. Some gossip that even Mel thought was off limits? Now she was really interested.

  ‘C’mon,’ she implored Mel. ‘You can’t say that and then not explain.’

  Mel shook her head and walked away to show she really meant it.

  ‘Mel?’

  She kept walking.

  5

  It was a busy morning and a few hours passed before Sammi had any time in front of a computer. It didn’t take her long to turn up ‘Peter Woodford’ on the police computer system. Although it was a fairly common name and she didn’t have a middle name or date of birth, she quickly narrowed the results by adding ‘Angel’s Crossing’ into the search parameters. If Bob and Mel knew about him, whatever had happened had happened in the Crossing.

  Peter Woodford was forty-nine years old and his address was on the outskirts of town. He had a few entries. A couple of drunk and public nuisance type offences. And sure enough, there it was. ‘Indecent dealing with a child under the age of 16’. It dated back eleven years. Sammi glanced at the victim’s date of birth. She’d be about twenty-six years old now.

  The report pre-dated the current computer system. The details were there, but all in one enormous block of information. Sammi scrolled through to read the report entries, listed chronologically, from the beginning.

  A fifteen-year-old girl accused her neighbour of raping her when she was twelve. Two counts particularised. Medical exam completed, but no physical evidence due to the length of time which had elapsed. 93A interview with the child completed. A statement from the fresh complainant, who was the child’s mother. Pretext phone call, with denials. Interview with Woodford. More denials. Not enough evidence to proceed.

  ‘Ugh,’ Sammi said to no one in particular. She looked at the dates on the report. It had been finalised about eight years ago. What had triggered today’s anonymous mail, she wondered. And why had Bob reacted so angrily? Bob was usually up-front, no guessing games with him.

  There was no one at the front counter, no other staff around. Sammi sidled into the sergeant’s office knowing Bob was the only one in there.

  ‘What’s up, Sammi?’

  ‘I looked up Peter Woodford on the system.’

  She was taken aback by the way he glared at her. ‘Leave it alone. You know you can get into trouble poking through files on the computer when it’s not your business.’

  The harsh tone of his voice shocked her. Not like him at all.

  ‘But it is my business. I opened the letter at the front door. I have every right to run the name through the system.’

  Bob grunted and turned to his computer, so his back was facing Sammi.

  ‘It was years ago that Woodford . . .’ Sammi chose her words carefully – this was obviously a sore point for Bob, ‘. . . came to police attention. I’m wondering why this would be brought up again now. As you said this morning, it’s ancient history.’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone trying to make trouble. People don’t like him. Don’t buy into it, okay?’

  ‘But what if –’

  ‘Just leave it alone.’ The tone of Bob’s voice made Sammi shut her mouth and turn away. She didn’t want an argument. Not with Bob. Not with anyone.

  6

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard . . .’

  The woman lowered her voice and leant in conspiratorially to Kelly. She was paying for her petrol but had a little something extra for Kelly.

  ‘. . . Pete the Ped’s been abusing another girl.’

  ‘No!’ Kelly had been in high school the first time she’d heard rumours about Peter Woodford. Janey had been in the grade above her and the gossip around the school had been rampant. In hindsight, she realised how unfair it had been on the poor girl. But still.

  ‘Who?’ Kelly asked.

  The woman shook her head. ‘The victim’s family don’t want to go to the police this time. Not after what happened with Janey.’

  Kelly nodded her head sadly. ‘It was horrible, wasn’t it? The police did nothing. He never went to jail or anything.’

  ‘And now he’s doing it again.’

  She hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the situation when it had happened. As a teenage girl, she’d been interested in the scandal of it all, rather than giving any thought to the effect on the people involved. But now, Kelly could understand why the new victim’s family weren’t keen to approach the police. The poor girl would have to go through police interviews, physical examinations, and then – if the last
time was anything to go by – nothing would happen anyway.

  ‘I don’t think we should stay silent,’ the other woman was saying. ‘Us locals, everyone who remembers what happened last time, we need to take matters into our own hands. We have to make sure the police do something. Or at least run him out of town so it never happens again.’

  Kelly nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll talk to a couple of my old school friends. Everybody remembers Janey. Let me know what we can do.’

  7

  It bothered Sammi. It bothered her all day, niggling at the back of her mind even while she was occupied with other tasks. It continued to bother her that evening as she and Gavin had dinner.

  Why had both Bob and Mel responded so defensively to the accusation against Peter Woodford?

  She and Gavin ate on their back deck, just on dusk as the daytime temperature descended with the sun. It should have been a pleasant time, the two of them, with a steak dinner, a glass of wine and a sleepy dog under the table. But Sammi couldn’t shake the puzzle of Peter Woodford. On the spur of the moment, she decided to see if Gavin could fill in any of the blanks. He hadn’t lived in Angel’s Crossing when the girl had reportedly been abused, but he’d lived here longer than Sammi.

  ‘Hey, do you know Peter Woodford?’ she asked, concentrating on the last mouthful of her dinner, as if she wasn’t intensely interested in his answer.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do,’ he said. ‘Why’s that?’ It still sounded like a casual conversation.

  ‘Where do you know him from?’

  ‘You know Barry from work?’ Sammi nodded. She knew all Gavin’s workmates. They were standard fixtures at footy games, barbecues and birthday parties.

  ‘Pete’s his brother. Keeps to himself mostly. Played cricket with us a couple of times.’

  Oh shit. Sammi hadn’t anticipated that.

  ‘He was at Belinda’s fortieth birthday party. You would have seen him.’

  She had hoped Gavin might have heard of Peter, might be able to give some insight into how he was regarded around the town. She didn’t expect Gavin to know him personally

  Gavin was looking at her expectantly and her eyes flicked left to right, avoiding his gaze. If someone did that during an interview, she’d guess they were lying or had something to hide. Yet here she was, doing it herself. God, she was so transparent.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ It had gone past a casual conversation now.

  ‘His name came up at work today.’

  Gavin was still staring at her. At the side of her head now.

  ‘I know the rumours. It all happened before I moved to town,’ he said. ‘But I’ve never had a problem with him. He’s a nice enough bloke. Doesn’t talk much. He runs the family farm outside town.’

  Sammi nodded and made an ambivalent noise, still keeping her eyes averted.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Gavin asked. His tone of voice had darkened ever so slightly, hardly enough for anyone to notice unless they knew him very well.

  ‘Nothing really. The name just came up.’ She could feel Gavin still looking at her. She reached for her wineglass to avoid eye-contact.

  ‘You’re not going to tell me?’ Gavin sounded incredulous. ‘You don’t trust me with it?’ She often told him about her jobs, even the big ones. He knew who were the drug dealers in town, the drink drivers, the guys who beat their wives. He cleared his throat.

  ‘If I was a copper, we could talk about work. That would probably help. You’d have me as a legitimate sounding board. We could work together, give each other support.’

  Sammi hadn’t anticipated this sudden change in the conversation. She scraped her knife back and forth making crude patterns in her leftover gravy. The dog stirred under the table, pushing its head against the inside of Sammi’s foot.

  ‘A lot of copper marriages break down because all they do is talk shop. Eventually there’s nothing left to say,’ Sammi said.

  ‘You really don’t want me to become a copper, do you?’ he challenged. He pushed back from the table, stretching his legs out and folding his hands behind his head, as if they were still having a casual chat.

  ‘I don’t understand why,’ he continued. ‘I thought you’d like the idea, that it might help some of your anxiety knowing I was right behind you. Literally. I could be right there in the car with you.’

  Sammi bit her tongue. Gavin had been an absolute lifesaver in her dark days since the abduction but she didn’t need some sort of body guard now. Sammi had always been independent, stupidly so on occasion, as if to prove a point. Gavin’s quiet strength had been something she could cling to. It had been a new aspect to their relationship. But there was a difference between needing someone to lean on in a relationship and having someone looking over your shoulder at work.

  ‘It’s sweet and thoughtful of you to consider that. But I need to make it on my own at work,’ she said.

  ‘Sure, sure. You’re getting better all the time and it won’t be long before you get back on the road. By the time I’m finished at the academy, you’d be all over it again, back to normal at work,’ Gavin said. ‘I thought it would be cool to work together. And I think the police would be a good career move for me.’

  Sammi couldn’t argue with that. With shift allowance, she easily out-earnt Gavin. Plus regular pay rises, good holidays and extra superannuation. But his plans felt suffocating, overbearing. She didn’t want to say that out loud. Not to Gavin. Not to any of her colleagues who Gavin might already have spoken to.

  ‘I guess I get the feeling that the only reason you’re doing it is for me. That you don’t think I can manage it by myself. Or you feel like you need to keep an eye on me,’ Sammi said softly.

  ‘Nah. It’d be a good job, I’d enjoy it,’ Gavin said. He tipped back the rest of his wine and went inside.

  That had ended badly. Sammi felt like Gavin was implying that she couldn’t do it by herself, that she needed him to hold her hand back on the road. And the thing that bothered her most was that he may be right.

  8

  It was like a shotput in the pit of his stomach, a cold dead weight slowing him down, occasionally stopping him in his tracks completely. Sometimes it weighed him down so much, he was sure everyone would see, and would know why he walked with his head down. Other times, he didn’t even notice it and he felt like a normal person, living an everyday life. He would get a burst of optimism and feel like he could beat it, that he wouldn’t want to do it again. But he always did.

  He couldn’t say why he did it. He knew it was wrong. Wrong on so many levels. It was a betrayal of trust. The worst possible betrayal of trust. Stealing innocence. Every time he did it, his conscience burned white hot with shame and remorse afterwards.

  She had no idea. The poor little mite didn’t know any different. He had made this abomination normal for her.

  He loved her so very much. He knew she loved him too. But it was not acceptable love. He couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen when she was older, and realised what he had done. Eventually their love would be discovered and stripped bare and made to look disgusting and unnatural.

  That would be the end of it. Not only his relationship with this beautiful little girl. It would also be the end of him. The guilt and shame would finally force him to tie the knot in the rope or put the hose in the tailpipe of his car. He would do it straight away, when the wave of guilt peaked, before it rushed away and he found ways to rationalise it again. He was so good at rationalising it. If only it was that easy to stop himself instead.

  But now it was just a matter of time until it all unravelled.

  9

  Sammi was standing in aisle three in front of the canned pineapple in the supermarket after work when she had the breath knocked out of her. It wasn’t a physical punch, though it felt that way. So much so that she dropped the tin she was holding.

  ‘I hear Pete the Ped’s up to
his nasty old tricks.’

  She turned and saw an older woman standing next to her. She had seen her around town before but didn’t know her name, couldn’t even have said if she’d ever had reason to speak with her.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ She glanced up and down the aisle. There was no one else around.

  ‘Evil cannot keep itself hidden forever. It will always be revealed eventually,’ she said, her eyes boring into Sammi’s. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘About what?’ Sammi asked. It was only a mature-aged woman in the supermarket, but there was something about her that made Sammi nervous.

  ‘About a pedophile free to abuse children. You’ve heard about it, no doubt.’

  ‘I’m just trying to do my shopping.’ Sammi bent down to pick up the tin she had dropped, hoping the movement would cover the shaking in her legs. ‘This is inappropriate. If you have a complaint, come down to the station.’

  ‘No. Molesting young girls is inappropriate.’ The woman took a step into Sammi’s personal space. Without even thinking about it, Sammi moved her weight to the balls of her feet, and tightened her grip on the tin in her hand. Fight or flight. The body’s choices under threat. She was ready for either.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ Sammi replied, Bob’s words echoing in her ears.

  The woman snorted softly. ‘Of course it’s your business. It is the business of every right-minded citizen in this town. Certainly it’s the business of the police. We all have a duty to keep children safe.’

  Sammi was unnerved. The woman was crowding her and she fought the urge to step back. She had done nothing wrong.